Of Monsters and Men
by rockrae
Summary: On the night of Voldemort's defeat, Severus Snape takes in Harry Potter, and ten years later Hadrian Prince goes to Hogwarts with plans to bring his friend Tom back from the dead. Meanwhile, the Dark Lord rises anew, reborn. The morals of an eleven-year-old boy are a terrifying thing. Dark!Harry; not Severitus.
1. ( Part I:I ) For the Greater Good

**A/N: Hello there! I've had this idea for awhile now, and decided to finally post it. The other chapters are already in various stages of completion, so I'll post more depending on the response. Anyhow! Please enjoy the first chapter! I know I've seen this concept done a bunch of times, but I'm hoping to put a twist on it that I haven't yet seen done.**

 **Of course, there's a fair chance that it _has_ been done and I just haven't ventured far enough into the depths of FFN.**

 **DISCLAIMER: I own nothing in this fanfic besides my OCs. _Harry Potter_** **and all associated titles are the properties of J.K. Rowling.**

* * *

 **OF MONSTERS AND MEN**

 **part one, chapter one: for the greater good**

 ** _1981_**

* * *

 _"_ _Fools rush in where angels fear to tread_."

— Alexander Pope

* * *

 _ **October 31st, 1981**_

He'd gone there to save her.

Potter was already dead—he could see his half-collapsed form even from here, and Lily… Icy eyes narrowed, lips thinning into a slit. Lily was most likely dead as well. The Dark Lord would never permit her to live, of course, so he didn't know what he was expecting. He'd begged, _begged_ , for a chance to get her away, to let her live. And he'd failed. They'd met and he had been nothing but civil, nothing but a worried friend, nothing but someone who _cared_ , she'd still refused; couldn't leave her husband and son, she had said, how could he expect her to give up everything in order to be with him?

It was ridiculous—he didn't ask her to be with him. Never once had he thought about it after Voldemort had announced his intentions. Never once had he even dreamed that she would think that was what he was requesting.

It'd been for _her_. _Everything_ had been for _her_.

Now she was dead—both Lily and her son.

The man's jaw tightened. He didn't mourn the death of James Potter—no, he had it coming. He should have listened, should have _known_ not to trust Pettigrew—after all, hadn't he known him for years? Known what a coward the sniveling rat was? Severus hadn't been privy to the inner workings of their group, but even he could have told anyone that Pettigrew was as loyal as a snake—and not a Slytherin one.

But Lily…Lily hadn't deserved to die. Her son, perhaps, for bringing the entire ordeal upon her, but she most certainly didn't deserve to be struck down by an Unforgiveable for no reason other then she gave birth to the child of a blasted prophecy.

Blinking once, the hooded man squared his shoulders and strode past the gate, acting as if he didn't notice the conspicuous lack of wards against his skin as he passed. The door was ajar, and his steps fell heavy on the floorboards of the Potter household, their lack of creaking belying the amount of magic that had flowed over them only hours before.

A tall form was slumped lifelessly against a window, untamable black hair pressed against the glass and dark eyes glazed over.

 _Potter_.

Despite his misgivings towards the corpse, the wizard paused in his quest, staring down at him blankly. Potter's glasses had fallen from his face and were probably somewhere on the floor, he supposed, seeing how they weren't anywhere on him. He'd thought that maybe seeing the man's body, seeing him dead would bring some sort of peace, some satisfaction for years of cruelty...

He felt nothing.

Potter had been a pure-blood, and a simple pure-blood at that—boorish and cruel, Severus'd never understood what Lily had seen in him. However, boorish and cruel as he was, the man had never used his blood status against him. Oh, he'd called Severus names. Awful, horrid names that still had him waking from childish nightmares filled with them—but never once had he said anything about his blood.

The wizard's lips curved in a rare smile—it was far from a pleasant one; bitterness and hatred had turned it to a grimace, and despite his young years, there were thin frown lines beginning to show on his face. Somehow, that fact made the torment all the more terrifying. Knowing that it hadn't been because of his blood, because of his parentage. It was because he was _himself_. Quite honestly, with that sort of cruelty that had transcended the easy excuse of childhood, he was surprised the man hadn't opposed the Order with his every breath. After all, wasn't that what Dumbledore stood against with every moral fiber of his being? The strong harassing the weak?

Severus shook himself, aimed one last glance at James Potter's limp body, and continued on. There was no use reminiscing. Potter wasn't worth the time, and he was running out of just that. He had to locate Lily's body and move it somewhere else, give it a proper burial—

A cry broke through the smothering silence, shattering whatever thoughts had been forming in the man's head.

Dark eyes widened, and then narrowed within the same heartbeat. If the circumstances hadn't been otherwise, he would've gone as so far as to snort. _Impossible_. It was easy for him to dismiss the sound as the wind, or perhaps the house moaning around him, the magic of the wards that had fallen still screaming out in betrayal.

However, when the cry repeated itself, this time louder and far more human, the man found himself moving towards the staircase anyway, his heart suddenly in his throat and thoughts empty and unsure, wary of the possibility given to him in that cry. Quickly scaling the steps, all but leaping over the wooden boards that had collapsed in an effort to move towards the source of the crying, he ripped his cloak free from where it had snagged on a piece of wood jutting out from the wall.

The cry sounded again.

The man didn't bother trying to open the wreckage of splinters that remained of the door, simply banishing the damned thing instead before barreling inside, wand drawn. His eyes flickered around the room with a sense of panic.

The sprawl of red hair against the floorboards was sickeningly easy to pick out from the rubble.

Severus leaned against the doorframe, its sullen creak falling upon deaf ears. He could barely see her from this angle, most of her body hidden by the crib and rocking chair that lay between them, but he could see _enough_ , could see the paleness to her skin, the milky veil that had descended over her eyes, the—

" _Lily._ "

Lily was…dead? Dead. He had suspected as much, but to actually see...to actually _see_ her laying here... There was no hope now. He dropped to his knees almost reverently, pale hands trembling as they clutched her to his chest, and a dark head bowed, body curling over her _._ Whatever sound he made earlier, it would not repeat itself—when he opened his mouth, the only thing that emerged was a low gasp that sounded dry and brittle, even to his own ears.

"Lily…Lily, _no_ ," Severus pleaded. His voice broke around his words. "It wasn't supposed to be like this, Lils—you were supposed to _live_ , he _promised_ , he _told me that you would live_ —"

Excuses continued to pour uselessly out of him, most of them half-finished thoughts and promises, some of them apologies; apologies for being sorted into Slytherin; for not telling her about his father; for calling her that word, that stupid, horrible word. What else could he do? Maybe if he had been someone more like Potter, young and stupid but with options beyond joining the Dark Lord—maybe if he hadn't killed—if he hadn't overheard that damn prophecy—

If he hadn't been fool enough to trust Dumbledore and Voldemort, all their pretty words of 'truth' and 'honor' and 'righteousness'—

Cries that had been steadily escalating in volume speared through the numb veil that had been hanging over his thoughts, and his head jerked upwards so fast that he could hear his spinal chord crack. Slim fingers tightened in red hair.

 _No, it can't be._ But wasn't it that very noise that had him come up here in the first place?

With a trembling press of his lips to her forehead, Severus gently set her back on the ground, shutting her eyelids with a brush of his fingertips. He shakily stood, mistrust of his ability to remain upright sending his hands grasping at the crib bars.

A tuft of dark hair. Green eyes. Tears. _Harry Potter._

He took in the toddler in a manner that would be almost eager, if not for the spite that glinted in his eyes. The dark hair was James' for sure, yes, but the eyes, those _eyes_ … His lips twisted up into something akin to a smile, expression bitter as long fingers reached towards the wailing boy, lifting him from his crib as if he were made of glass. He handled him awkwardly, the boy's fat limbs sticking out at angles and his head lolling against his chest as his thumb lightly pressed down on the scar on his forehead that sluggishly oozed blood, stemming it with a delicacy that belied the anger that shook him.

Besides the scratch, not one mark was on this...this abomination's body. How could he _live_? How could he continue to breath, while _Lily_ had _perished_? The boy wasn't part of the deal, he knew—but he didn't care. There could always be another brat made, another husband found—but Lily?

There would only ever be one Lily.

Flint bore into jade, and Severus realized how easy, how damnably _easy_ , it would be to wring the life from the brat. His neck could be snapped in an instant, his heart stopped in less time than that; a single thought, and the child would die. _So why did the Dark Lord fail and Lily die instead of Potter's brat?_

Teeth bared in desperate snarl, Severus whisked his wand from his sleeve, the tip of it nudging into the soft, pudgy skin beneath the boy's chin. One curse. He wouldn't even need to _speak_. He could accomplish what the Dark Lord hadn't, and then—and then—

And then what?

Harry let out a gurgle, tears still drying on his cheeks as chubby hands went grasping at the long strands of the wizard's hair. Severus simply stared at him, the ache going unnoticed. The boy was the reason Lily was dead, if he would've just let the Dark Lord kill him instead of making Lily get in the way—!

But neither his lips nor his mind would form the curse, and he was instead left locked onto eyes that he knew too well. Those blasted _eyes_. Those damned, bloody, _green_ eyes: _Lily's_ eyes. Severus felt rage surge back into him; how _dare_ he? Hadn't he taken enough away from her? Her life, her future...and yet...and yet!

His wand quavered, and Severus could only feel betrayed by his own body as his hands numbly lowered the tip towards the ground.

He couldn't kill him. He, Severus Snape, couldn't kill a mere _child_. He had killed Aurors and wizards and witches and Muggles so caught in their own glory they didn't recognize the power of the Dark Lord; was he now so weak that he couldn't kill a child who held no more power than a squib?

The boy let out another coo, giving a gummy grin as the man tried to summon up another burst of anger, only for it to fall horribly short and a sort of vile, loathsome emotion rise in its place, bringing an acrid taste to his mouth and a stone to his stomach: shame.

He should have been more persistent. A warning wasn't enough; wasn't enough for people as stubborn and wild as _she_ was. He should've made Lily listen, made her pay attention, made her...

If only he had been less weak _._

 _"Hey, Snivellus—even if you are a slimy, greasy git, isn't this going a bit far?" Black shakes his mangy head in disgust._ _His robes are dark, wet. Severus doesn't know with what._

If only he could bring the Dark Lord back. _Surely_ he'd be able to—

 _Potter grins toothily at Lily as Severus finds himself being flung into the lake, robes drenched and hair hanging in a wet curtain around his face. "Oi, Evans! You wanna go get some butterbeer now?"_

If only this boy had died at birth—

 _Severus' wand points threateningly at Lupin's face, the curse he had created falling all too easily from his lips and the werewolf collapses with a wet, shuddering breath onto the forest floor. "Septumscrumptia."_

If only—

 _A scrawny body curls over in a bow at the Dark Lord's feet, mousy hair falling in straggles around his ears. "The Potters have made me their secret keeper, My Lord." A laugh slithers out from the darkness, and Severus can only feel horrified as he realizes what it means and Disapperates on the spot, the Dark Lord missing his absence in his joy._

Why hadn't she just _listened?_

 _Red hair is fire among the soft, glowing embers of the kitchen lights, fists curled on the table top, voice quiet but trembling with rage; "How_ could _you, Sev? I only let you in because of what you said, but can all you do is_ lie _?" The chairs rattle as she shoves herself away, standing and aiming her wand at Severus' face with a cold mercilessness that he's never seen on her soft features. "Get the_ hell _out of my house, and never come back!"_

But was it really his fault?

Hadn't he tried his best to warn her, risking his own life, playing as Dumbledore's _dog_ in order to protect her? Everything, _everything_ , he had given up, and yet she had just spat in his face at the help he offered! Potter and Dumbledore and Black and Lupin—all of them had been fools. They didn't see the signs; they didn't try hard enough to protect something truly valuable. If anything, Lily was the victim to their foolishness. And her son...

Severus' features twisted in an ugly snarl, but he still held the child in one arm, his hands trembling and white at the knuckles where his fingers curled viciously around his wand. Her accursed son was all that remained of Lily, of Lily's face and Lily's eyes and Lily's smile and Lily's _everything_.

He couldn't kill him. Oh, but how he _wanted_ to. How he wanted to see pure _terror_ creep into those eyes, the same terror that Lily had probably felt upon seeing the Dark Lord and the terror that the boy was responsible for making her feel. But he was all that remained of Lily.

Swallowing something in his throat—Severus suspected it was a bezoar, despite the fact it probably wasn't—he gave a shaky exhale, running a trembling finger over the boy's face with such delicacy it was no more than a butterfly's wing brush against his skin.

He was suddenly, and inexplicably, aware of Lily's body behind him, sightless eyes burning holes into his back.

"Goddammit, Lily. _Goddammit_." His voice broke around his words, anger fracturing and falling to the floor like a broken windowpane.

He couldn't leave her here.

Couldn't leave either one of them.

Dumbledore would no doubt listen to the prophecy, and manipulate the boy just as he had him: through guilt, guilt that Lily had died to protect him, guilt that he was the only one able to oppose the Dark Lord. Guilt of what would happen if he _didn't_ oppose him.

 _Lily. Lily, Lily, Lily._

Bitter rage swept through him with surprising suddenness at the thought of the old wizard, and no matter what fate befell him, he was sure, in that moment, that he'd rather Voldemort get his hands on the boy rather than Albus Dumbledore.

No child, regardless of who they were, deserved to live a life of a human weapon. As a hero, expected to fight a battle that was never his _—_ the Chosen One, how ridiculous. Dumbledore had failed to hide his weary satisfaction when he had first heard the prophecy, eyes glinting with something like desperate hope even as he turned towards the Potters, grim-faced, to tell them of their son's fate.

Of someone whose future was decided before he could even talk.

Staring into green, Severus closed his eyes for a long moment. "Damn you, Potter." _What use were all your words of protection if you couldn't even save the life of your wife and son?_

 _What use were my warnings?_

 _What use was_ your _sacrifice?_

Oh, he hated James Potter. He hated him from the moment he had grinned winningly at Lily, and then immediately proceeded to insult him to his face. He hated him for every jeer, every snicker, every damning sneer that had Severus avoiding him in the halls.

He hated him for following him to the Shrieking Shack.

He hated him for saving his life.

But the one thing that loomed over the rest, dark and forbidding, was the fact that he had been the first to fall, the first one to charge at the Dark Lord when he entered his house, stupidly dying before him instead of escaping with Lily.

Severus hated him for his heroism.

Feeling as if the world had spun sickeningly on its axis, he turned around shakily, arms trembling where he held Harry; the brat gurgled at him, happy and wholesome in a way that had onyx looking blankly down in response, still unable to formulate a proper response. He could only numbly stare, the weight of him against his chest suddenly feeling far more heavy than it had before.

Then he caught sight of the horribly familiar wand besides Lily's body, and bile rose in his throat like acid. It burned as he swallowed. Blankness turned to horror, and then to a steadily rising, roaring fear.

The Dark Lord's wand.

The pale wood was hidden by the shadows cast by the room, but it lurked there nonetheless. Smooth. Powerful. Deadly.

Abandon.

Why would he leave his wand _here_? No matter how cruel his mockery, the Dark Lord was no fool. No wizard willingly left his only tool to conduct magic alone. Not even Dark Lords.

Had something happened?

Where was the Dark Lord?

 _Where is Voldemort?_

Harry had fallen silent in his grasp, as if in silent agreement of the sudden barrage mounting in Severus' head. His breath was shaky as he exhaled, choking him with its sharpness.

What was going on?

The Dark Lord would have never fled, never dared to let a target, let alone a small _boy_ , live. Never would have left his wand, never left without telling someone or sending Nagini to them, never left _without giving them orders—_

Fear and confusion had adrenaline coursing through him with each jerk of his heart, so when a sharp crack echoed through the night— _had someone found him?—_ the drop to the floor and the sudden reaching for the Dark Lord's wand with one hand while the other held Lily's son— _Voldemort will come back and he'll need his wand_ —was completely out of desperate reflex.

A heartbeat later, he Disapparated from Godric's Hollow, just in time to hear footsteps sounding beneath them and the whimpers of a crying child. Then they were gone.

『• • •』

Two figures landed in the harsh cradle of Spinner's End's cold and dreary study, the air splitting around them with a violent crack. The dark-haired man was crouched, staring blankly at the spot where a woman's body should be, a boy and a wand that were neither his in hand.

He had forgotten Lily.

Seemingly heeding the cue of the loss of his mother's body, the small child began to stir and wailed loudly, green eyes shimmering with tears. The cries echoed oddly in the cramped room, bouncing off the walls that were stuffed ceiling high with tomes and scrolls, yellowed parchment leaning precariously out from their bindings as if to peer out at the strangers who had just appeared.

Severus hushed him none-too-gently; instead his words of attempted soothing were cracked by panic, and emerged more of a strangled hiss then the coo of a concerned adult. Which, was to say, Severus was _not_ at the moment. A concerned adult, that is. At least, not the type of concerned adult that any sane man or woman would want looking down at their child with frenzied, wild eyes.

Oddly enough, the sound earned him a quieter wail, which then dissolved into hiccups and half-hearted spit-bubbles. Severus decided, after staring at him for several moments, to let it be.

His focus blurred, turning the small boy into nothing more than a smudged image in his hands. Hands, he noticed, curiously detached, that were shaking. How queer. Why would they be shaking? Of course, his vision then went and had the audacity of covering itself in spots of darkness, cleverly obstructing much of the already dim view.

Slightly amused, he wondered if this is perhaps why people like James Potter needed glasses.

 _Didn't help him enough to stop him from getting killed by the Dark Lord, though._ The thought was sudden, and then Severus found himself on the edge of hysteric, hollow laughter, the sound clashing oddly with the shallow breaths that were doing nothing to successfully give him oxygen. Blasted thing, what use was a body if it didn't _work?_

It took him a long moment of mental silence and empty eyes, despite the twisted expression on his face and the violent shuddering of his body, to figure out what was going on.

He was panicking.

Lily and James Potter were dead, Voldemort had vanished, Harry Potter was currently drooling on the only clean robe he had left and Severus was _panicking_.

How droll.

A deep inhale. Dark eyes blinked. Another scratchy breath, clawed down into his lungs. A steadily focusing glare aimed at the carpet beneath his knees. He'd always had a particular...weakness when it came to reacting to certain situations. If not anger it was...this. His lips twitched into a sneer. _This_. His body went had contented itself with throwing a tantrum befitting of a mandrake, while leaving his mind alone and free to pick up the remainder of his thoughts.

Really, it was irritating. And the disgust towards such a reaction was on a deeper, more fundamental level that would have sent Dumbledore into a hand-clapping, eye-twinkling tizzy simply out of acknowledgment that he had other weaknesses besides Lily Potter.

The dark-haired man gathered himself somewhat abruptly and made to stand, balance tilting dangerously as he stumbled over to the study's double doors, opening them with a surge of magic rather than any physical force. Slowly, he trudged down the hall and began up the stairs—however, at some point his knees failed him; leaning heavily on the weary banister, which couldn't summon up much more then a groan at the sudden action, he scowled.

His shoulders drooped and with a tired croak, he summoned the house elf. "Remy."

The pale-blue elf popped into existence next to him, watery green eyes as large as moons in his frail face. "Yes? What can Remy be doing for Master Severus, sir?" His voice was high and thin, wavering about in a manner that Severus typically find rather irritating, and would have reprimanded him for speaking so shrilly if not for the fact that he scantly trusted himself to speak at the moment without tumbling over his own words.

Not bothering to explain himself, he shoved Lily's son rather unceremoniously at the small creature. The pale frail arms wrapped around the comparatively thicker ones of the boy, and then tightened in preparation to Disapparate when Severus next spoke, "Put him to bed. Anywhere. I don't care. Just—" his voice faltered, and the man cursed himself for his weakness before continuing, "just not in the master bedroom. Understood?"

"Remy be listening to Master Severus, sir," the house elf informed him cheerfully. "Remy understands, sir. Remy will not put boy in master bedroom. Remy will be putting boy in Master Severus' room!"

Before Severus could correct him, Remy had disappeared with a similar pop as to when he arrived, and dark eyes stared at the spot he vacated before slumping against the wall. This time, both the wall _and_ the stair protested at him, and he violently wondered why the damn house hadn't been torn down and rebuilt. Certainly _looked_ as if it were to collapse at any moment. Burning it down would only hasten the inevitable.

While entertaining the idea of casting a Fiendfyre and allowing it to consume the house in its entirety, his steps had slowly slipped their way back down the staircase, each one slow and heavy. The Dark Lord's wand was held in limp fingers, in danger of falling from his grasp entirely.

 _Crack._

Severus' unfeeling fingers instinctively tightened around the wand at the sudden noise. _The study?_ Placing the wand almost brusquely within his robe, his own wand was immediately in hand, and he threw open the doors. His cloak was fluttering around him from the sudden rush of air that the action brought, and his eyes were hard, pitiless rocks in his face as he stalked into the only place he liked in the entire damn house, only to come up rather short.

" _You_..." he hissed.

The only woman among the group of four that had suddenly Apparated into his study cackled at him, red lips spread wide. "Aw, is poor ickle Sevwy angwy?" Bellatrix Lestrange's coos ground wretchedly upon his eardrums, and Severus found a sneer easily being pulled onto his lips despite his feverish state of mind.

"Bella, I'm afraid I quite do not fully appreciate being talked to like a child." His scathing tone earned him a disappointed moue from the other Death Eater, as well a deep chuckle from the man that loomed behind her.

He eyed Rudolphus Lestrange with thinly veiled wariness, taking several moments to gather himself before shifting his focus to Rabastan, who stood behind him. The two brothers being in each other's company wasn't unnatural as it was unexpected, but it was the sight of Bartemius Crouch Junior lurking just off to the side that had him bemused. What purpose did these four have with him? He had a sort of uneasy truce of...something, with them, something less than friendship but sturdier than the simply solidarity, but that was no reason for the sudden visit.

The longer he silently stared at the group, the more panic and confusion prickled at him, and the further his face smoothened, leaving nothing behind besides a mask in its place. While Bellatrix was currently leering at him, the two brothers behind her looked somewhat unruffled, although Rudolphus had the look of a man who was about to release the tension coiled in his shoulders on the next person to cross him.

Barty was an entirely different story; the man looked as if he had gone several nights without sleep, dark bruises lurking under his eyelids, and there was a nervous aspect to the manner at which he looked about the room that Severus could rather relate to at the moment.

Sitting down in the armchair to his left, Severus assumed a somewhat dismissive expression as he spoke. "What do you want?"

The grin fell from Bellatrix's lips shockingly fast. For a heart-stopping moment, he thought it was because he had angered her—which did nothing to assuage the panic bubbling beneath his skin like a potion long over-brewed—before realizing that she had lapsed into an uncharacteristic silence, expression looking torn somewhere between fury and hurt.

Rudolphus spoke from her shoulder, looming over her with a broad build that couldn't be disguised by the obviously hastily donned cloak, "We're here to ask...questions."

As if that statement wasn't vague enough, Severus inwardly sneered. Questions. That could range from your friendly-variety inquiry or demands accompanied by a snarl and a threat to sic their Lord's rage upon him.

It was only when he stepped out from behind Bellatrix did the mask in his hand glint; Severus could only wonder how utterly _thick_ they had to be to come _here_ , in the _Muggle World_ where he was _hiding_ , garbed in _Death Eater uniforms_.

He leveled a scowl at him, but the other man only gave him a grim smile in return, a muscle jumping in the sharp curve of his cheek.

"Questions?" Severus drawled, still managing to sound bored, although there was a twitch to his brow and tightness to his lips that bespoke of his annoyance. "How cute. I don't suppose you might _ask_ those questions?"

The elder Lestrange brother let out an odd combination of a growl and a grumble, temper flashing across his face before being replaced with the countenance of someone straining to not hex everyone in the room. It was an emotion Severus was very well acquainted with, but he couldn't say that the sight of it on Rudolphus was something that soothed him.

"Cute," Rudolphus shot back, mocking the word Severus had aimed at him moments before. "However, Snape, we're not here to verbally spar. As much as I'd love to more time in your _lovely_ Muggle dunghill," the word was sneered, and the dark-haired man simply leveled a cool stare at him, unable to find it within himself to disagree, "we have things to do. People to kill. A Dark Lord to find."

Fear flickered briefly in his eyes before he managed to drown it, his lips drawing into a thinner line then they had been before. He refused to let his mind wander to the boy upstairs, or the wand burning in his pocket.

When he remained silent, Rudolphus's face twisted into an ugly snarl, marring the skin creased in smile lines and the usually mischievous amber of his gaze looking deadly. "You _know_ , don't you? We can't find him, but _you_ know, and _I swear—!_ "

The roar was suddenly cut off by the rather threateningly saccharine, " _Hubby dearie_ ," of his wife, while Rabastan eyed them both warily, his gaze then flickering to Severus' in a manner that could be described as apologetic.

Severus offered him a tilt of his head in return, and something like a smile ghosted across Rabastan's lips before he turned around to Barty. Severus felt a pang of loss when he realized that he had just lost the focus of the only other sane person in the room, and begrudgingly turned his attention back to Bellatrix.

Immediately, he sneered, ignoring the sudden flutter in his chest. "Bellatrix, the Dark Lord doesn't take the Inner Circle murdering one another very lightly," he murmured, mirroring her pointed wand with a steadily aimed hold on his own.

Smiling at him once more, although her eyes glinted darker than Severus' ever could, Bellatrix purred, "Oh, come now, Snape. Be a good little Death Eater and tell us where our Lord is. But really," the teeth flashed in her grin were far more predatory and blood-thirsty then he liked, "I hope you _don't_ tell us. I'm rather bored, you see—I've got a thirst for the blood of a traitor."

"I don't know where he is _now_ ," came the immediate denial, and Bellatrix cackled with joy and parted her lips to curse him, Rudolphus louring behind her, but Severus raised his hand slightly in a sign of acquiescence. She bared her teeth at him. "The last I was aware, he was going off to…take care of the Potters."

"Potters?" the dark witch rolled around the name in her mouth. Recognition flashed in her eyes, and dark curls fell across her face as she let out a bark of laughter. "Ha! Oh, you mean that mudblood bitch that you begged the Dark Lord for?" Bellatrix's grin morphed to a snarl, all blood-red lips and crowded teeth, and suddenly Severus found himself fighting to remain seated as the woman stalked forward out of the group. "How _dare_ you," she shrieked, "waste our Lord's time! _Any_ favor, and you ask for the life of a _Mudblood?_ "

Severus snarled, anger and irritation crashing over him in a sudden, black wave, "I _will_ curse you—"

"I dare you to try, you fucking blood traitor—" Rudolphus roared.

"Oh please, Sevwy, like you even could—"

"Stop acting like children, all of you!" The sharp, cold edge of Rabastan's irritation cut through the suddenly heavy atmosphere. Magic still crackling around each of them and both of the aggressors bristling from their dark hair down to their leader-clad toe, no one made a move—including one to back away.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, looking as if his patience was being tried far past its breaking point, bright blue turned stare at him. There was nothing remotely kind in that look, the pale iciness devoid of anything close to compassion, but it was far more preferable then Bellatrix's unhinged, wild anger, or Rudolphus's merciless rage. The Potions Master thinned his lips and slowly slid his gaze to focus on the younger Lestrange brother, although his wand still remained pointed at the husband and wife before him.

Rabastan looked as if he were about to comment, before apparently thinking better of it and simply sighing. "Severus, please."

Usually, Severus would be more disbelieving towards a Death Eater using such a luxurious, hollow word such as 'please', but Rabastan Lestrange was nothing if not polite. Rudolphus on the other hand…it was appalling the man was a pure-blood at all. Or perhaps it was the fact that his temperament was that of a wild, savage animal. Let it not be said that he lacked pride—far from it, and he could play the part of a noble wizard when needed. But there was a certain aspect to him that Severus found disturbing similar to that of Sirius Black; the barking laughter, the mischievous eyes, the tendency to be ruthless to those they deemed beneath them—if not separated by house and politics, it wasn't hard to believe that Sirius Black and Rudolphus Lestrange might have been friends.

Rabastan steadily watched him, dark hair messily framing the pale ice of his gaze, as Severus glowered back. Rabastan let out another sigh, looking for all the world as if he were a parent dealing with a petulant child, and ran a hand over his jaw. "If you know anything," he began, "about where the Dark Lord is...please." Even with the added plea, his voice was still nearly flat and monotonous; it unfailingly raised the hair on the back of his neck, and yet Severus didn't move.

Pale skin and dark robes seemed to have transfigured to marble, a sudden flaring of his nostrils and a blink the only sign that any life was still clinging to him within. "I haven't the faintest. He's gone." The words left his lips in a succinct rasp, mouth gone dry despite his best efforts. "I went to the Potters—all of them are dead." _Dead_. The word felt hollow as he said it, and he nearly faltered, feeling as if his throat was about to close. Still, the threat on his life outweighed whatever panic he was about to throw himself into, and the man persevered in his speech. "However, there is the possibility the Dark Lord went to the Longbottoms. They're messy loose ends—and our Lord is clever enough wizard."

Seeming to be appeased with his apparent cooperation, Bellatrix's focus shifted as she swung around to stare at Rabastan, waving her wand about haphazardly. "Longbottoms! Off to see the ickle Longbottoms now, we are! Frank and that silly girl Alice—don't you remember them, love?"

It was then that Severus felt the slightest twang of regret, seeing the suddenly joyous expression on her face.

Rudolphus blinked and then gave a feral grin, anger bleeding away to something far more dangerous. "Lucky we have someone else to hunt now, Snape, or I'd be—well." Here, the large man let out a loud laugh, teeth glinting under the dim lighting. "Better if I didn't upset that delicate stomach of yours, aye?"

Resisting the urge to sneer at him, and ignoring the prickling of the skin on his neck and the sweat suddenly beading at the small of his back, Severus simply stared flatly at the space somewhere between Rudolphus, Rabastan and Bellatrix. It was with a small jolt that he then realized he was staring at Barty, but the other man did nothing but give him a slow blink, the smile that crossed his lips fleeting and out of character for one that usually smirked at anything and everything.

"Well, thank you, Severus. Now, we have a family to interrogate and a Lord to find so...good evening." This time, it was Rabastan that spoke, and Severus allowed his gaze to shift hollowly back onto his face. His stomach burned with acid, guiltily eating away as the impact of what he had just said slowly began to become clear. He wasn't any better then Pettigrew. Alice and Frank Longbottom had never committed a crime against him, had never done him any wrongs—so why? Why had he spoken their name, out of all the others he wished dead?

 _Crack._

 _Ah… they also have a son, don't they,_ thought Severus suddenly, and the churning in his stomach stopped, but only because that it had moved into his throat and mouth, bile threatening to surface. So, it was with a pale face and drawn features, black eyes looking oddly unfocused, did the dark-haired man speak: "Good evening."

But it was a moment too late, and by the time that he had, he was the only one left in the study, his words falling on the deaf ears of the yellowing parchment around him.

* * *

 **A/N: And there you go folks, the first chapter. Generic Severitus beginning (well, this or him stealing Harry away from the Dursleys is the usual go-to), but I assure you this _will not be Severitus_. I will stress that a lot-and it'll become more apparent in later chapters why it's not Severitus. **

**Also, no, it's not going to be a Snarry pairing either. I mean, until far later in the chapters, there won't even _be_ a romantic interest. So all you wary souls, fear not! **


	2. ( Part I:II ) To Outlive All Kings

**A/N: Holy shit. Thanks everyone who reviewed, favorite, or followed! I really didn't expect this many follows or anything, so I'm really glad everyone's liking it so far. This is the second chapter, and while I'm at it I should probably say a few things about how this fic is organized, as well as say a few things about the pacing.**

 **The fic will be divided into several parts, which will be centered on key events (e.g. Hadrian's childhood, First Year, Second Year, etc). We are currently in Part One, and the first three chapters (or four, depending) of Part One will be from Snape's perspective, basically because there are some plot points that need to be addressed in order to set up later events. After that, Hadrian will usually be the main POV, but it will switch to different characters time to time so that you guys, as the readers, get a grasp of what's going on.**

 **I hope you guys don't mind Part One too much, since it's not very action-heavy, but a time skip would make things too confusing given that so many things happen! Also, I should mention that Harry Potter, from this chapter onwards, will be referred to as Hadrian Prince both in the author's notes and in the chapters.**

 **Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

 **OF MONSTERS AND MEN**

 **part one, chapter two: to outlive all kings**

 _ **1981 — 1985**_

* * *

" _The distinction between children and adults, while probably useful for some purposes, is at bottom a specious one, I feel. There are only individual egos, crazy for love."_

— Niccolo Machiavelli

* * *

 _ **November 1981**_

 _Dear Severus;_

 _First off, I must send my sincere regrets about the events that occurred last night. However, as I write that, I wish to tell you that it was neither a coincidence nor an unlucky slip of the tongue that led to poor Lily and James' deaths. The Fidelius was broken, so I can only presume that Sirius Black leaked their location to Voldemort. Why, I can't possibly hope to fathom. Perhaps you could shed some light on it, Severus?_

 _Or perhaps not. I will restrain my questions out of respect for your time of mourning; I am not so as old and senile as to think you in a sound state after the death of a childhood friend. I can still remember when I could never see you apart—oh, how many times Argus came to me, saying you two were fraternizing inappropriately. I can only ponder the reason why it suddenly changed; but, once more, I will restrain from pestering you until a later date, I'm afraid._

 _My ramblings aside, there is another topic of much concern I wish to speak of: Voldemort has vanished._

 _I am unsure as to why, but both his body and his wand are nowhere to be found. Is he dead? Has he finally met his end? Oh, how I wish it were so! But alas, Severus, for it is not; the Fates would never be so kind. For now, we can only wait until he returns._

 _And, Severus, he will return._

 _It is because he will return that I would like to offer you a position at Hogwarts as the new Potions Master. Dear Horace Slughorn—you remember him, Severus; as I recall, he taught you when you were a boy—desires to retire sometime soon, and I can't think anyone else more qualified then you. That, and admittedly I ask due to my wishes to keep you safe. You have suffered far too much at the hands of the Dark Lord, and while you were indeed the one who handed him the prophecy, you were also the one who warned me of his knowledge. You gave the Potters a chance to remain a family for a bit longer, and for that, I thank you._

 _Please respond, Severus, for I don't think one should suffer through death alone._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Albus P.W.B. Dumbledore_

 _(Supreme Mugwump ICW_ ; _Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot_ ; _Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_ ; _Order of Merlin First Class_ ; _Inventor of the Twelve Uses of Dragon's Blood)_

It took Severus great strength to not burn the letter immediately, but he dolefully handed over a few coins to the great owl at his window in exchange for the daily paper and shooed it away, scowling at the talon marks left on the window ledge.

 _ **『• • •』**_

Several days later, he finally found it within himself to write a response; he ordered Remy to give the boy in the make-shift crib a small dosage of a sleeping potion before siting down in his study, inkwell opened and sleek quill in hand. He could barely stop his hand from shaking as he wrote:

 _Dear Headmaster;_

 _If what you say is true, then Black is an imbecile and a fool. As far as I knew, he was like a brother to Potter, who always had an asinine amount of trust in him. You ask for a reason, and I'll give you the only one I can think of: Black is a coward and a traitor who was too afraid of his death to protect those he loved._

Lies. Pettigrew was the traitor; but he wouldn't wish to rob Dumbledore of his fantasies or Black of his well-deserved prison sentence. Attempted murder was no joke, even if the Headmaster hadn't bothered to punish him for his acts. If Black couldn't defend his own mangy hide—well, it was no business of his.

 _I will say nothing on the topic of Lily, for there is nothing to be said that hasn't been already._

He did not think of the red-hair that he had left behind in the nursery that night.

 _The Dark Lord is a powerful man, as I'm sure you're aware, Headmaster. I would expect nothing less. However, I must say he'll be less than pleased when he returns, more so when he hears the whereabouts of the Lestranges and Crouch Junior. I fear you and your Order have made a mistake, Headmaster—one that will cost you._

 _As for your request that I join you at Hogwarts, I must politely decline as of now. There are family and personal matters I must attend to before all, and their importance outweighs the importance of my own safety. Horace Slughorn can certainly work a few more months if persuaded adequately—might I suggest offering a raise?—or another Potions Master can be found. I could give you the names of several qualified individuals who would easily match your requirements._

While he didn't particularly _want_ to work at Hogwarts, let alone as a Potions Master, he did need the job. Just not now, when his concerns tended to align with making sure no one knew of the boy's existence, and figuring out what he was supposed to do, exactly, with the now-legendary Harry Potter.

 _However, if you are willing, I would be grateful if I could the have the position in a year or so. Matters involving family are quite time consuming, and there are other, more prominent issues I need to handle as well._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Severus Snape_

He signed his name carefully, ever so carefully. Then, he dried the ink with a muttered spell, rolled it up, and tossed it out the window; never once did he look to see whether the great owl that had been hanging about his house for the past few nights caught it or not.

『• • •』

Dumbledore replied with sickening speed.

 _Dear Severus;_

 _I am most disappointed at your bias towards Sirius, but putting that aside, I simply cannot imagine him betraying James; as you said, the two were as brothers. While there are multiple reasons why blood would betray blood, they are brothers through childhood—I refuse to believe that bond is feeble enough to be destroyed by a loyalty to a family that disinherited him, or by a selfish desire to save himself. You must understand, Severus, that however cynical you may be, people do not just_ _change_ _. I will search for further answers, perhaps among Remus Lupin and their other associates (of which there are now too few)._

Dark eyes slid to the fireplace, calculating.

 _Peter Pettigrew has left this world, as I'm sure you have heard. Sirius Black killed him, and many Muggles along with him; but yet again, as for the reason why, I am left in the dark. Human nature can befuddle the best of us, it seems._

 _And, while we are still on the saddening topic of tragedy, I suppose it's only fair to tell you of Alice and Frank Longbottom's situation. After their torture at the Death Eaters' hands, their minds have been…broken. They now lay in St. Mungo's; please, if you have time, consider visiting them._

There was a troubling feeling in his stomach; he steeled himself and forced a curl of his upper lip, reading over the remaining script with as much swiftness as he could manage.

 _Are you making threats, Severus? Or is it simply a warning? If it's the latter, then I must soothe your fears, for when the Dark Lord returns, we will not simply wait around. If it's the former I must bluntly suggest you reexamine where your loyalties lie, and where those loyalties left Lily Potter._

 _That aside, I would be more than happy to reserve the Potions post for you, as long as you simply give me a time at which you would be willing to occupy it. While I appreciate the insight into Horace Slughorn, and the offer to give me some acceptable applicants, I am sure Horace will be all the willing to continue as the Potions Master. He loves the children, I must say. That club of his is quite the amusement! Brilliant minds all around, and most of them go on to become equally brilliant witches and wizards—in fact, it was young Wilhelm Stebbins who recently published his fascinating study on draconic breeding habits, if I'm not incorrect._

 _For now, I will respect your wishes of distance, Severus. Please owl me when the time is best, or if there is anything you require._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Albus P.W.B. Dumbledore_

 _(Supreme Mugwump ICW_ ; _Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot_ ; _Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_ ; _Order of Merlin First Class_ ; _Inventor of the Twelve Uses of Dragon's Blood)_

Severus burned the letter.

『• • •』

 _ **February, 1982**_

 _Dear S. Prince;_

 _I am not positive if you knew of my existence previous to me sending this letter, but as I highly suspect you don't, I shall inform you as you are reading._

 _My name is Severus Tobias Snape. Eileen Snape neé Prince was my mother, and your sister. She made the unfortunate mistake of marrying a Muggle who was firmly set in his ignorance; a Muggle who's name I loathe to say, and will refuse to write in fear that I may sooner retch then finish this letter._

 _I am not asking you to forgive her. A half-blood I might be, but I hold no love for the Muggle she married, or for her foolish decision. I will not trouble you with the details of my childhood or her marriage, but I will simply tell you they were unpleasant._

 _However, I am not writing this as some juvenile introduction letter, hoping to breathe life into a bond that never even existed. Instead, I wish to write to you about the Princes' condition. My mother informed me that you and her were the last of the direct line, last of the true, pure Princes. She also told me of your…affectation, one night when I was young, when I asked her why I had never met you. She spoke of her love for that maggot of a Muggle, of how her family 'misunderstood' that love and how you cast her out._

 _Frankly, I cannot find it within myself to blame you. I suffered because of her decision, because of your decision, because of the influence both had on my life, but I cannot blame you. Who would wish to have someone like that, someone who willing chose to marry such a miscreant, in their family? My mother she was, but there are certain transgressions that even her son cannot forgive._

Severus stared down at the words he had just written, dipping the quill into the inkwell with a deceptively steady hand. His mother had been…pitiful, to say in the least. As a child, he had been filled with nothing but anger, anger towards her stupid husband and her even stupider decision to marry him—how long had he been convinced that someone from the Prince line would come and save him? That they would realize that he was one of _them_ , a wizard, and rescue him from a house filled with violence and neglect? Too long he had lived under that delusion, toiling away at winning approval from a family that most likely didn't even know he existed. _The Half-Blood Prince._ A foolish title for a foolish child.

Scowling now, he continued:

 _In light of this, I have a proposal. This proposal is admittedly partially selfish, but also because I have no wish for my bloodline to die with me. I have no children, no wife, and no longer belong to the Princes; and I believe you are in a similar situation. If you accept my proposal, the line shall not die with us._

 _A year ago, or around that time, I took in a small boy whose parents are no longer in this realm. He has no family, no relatives. I can't tell you of his true identity, but take faith in the fact he extends from a pure-blood line that has joined with others over the centuries. He is a mere child, yet his magical talent is...astounding._

The ink around that last word seemed to be thicker, as Severus had allowed his quill to rest on the paper for several heartbeats as he attempted to figure out a reasonable word to cajole its recipient.

 _While I am his guardian and he my ward, I can't offer him the protection he needs through such a flimsy bond. I can't adopt him into my line, for I do not have one that recognizes me. I will not have his named attached to mine, no matter who my ancestors are._

 _Perhaps you can tell where I am headed, or perhaps I am speaking of circles among circles. So I will speak bluntly: please adopt the boy into the Prince line. A blood adoption will slowly feed your magic into him, and his new blood will strengthen the line. The line can be revived. You wouldn't have to even raise the boy._

 _You can have no children, and I have no want nor need for one—of course, I don't matter, due to my status._

 _I would write the boy's name; however, letters are fickle things and often find themselves too easily in the hands of another._

 _I wish to meet, but find myself hesitant to do so. If we do, please bring proof of identification._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Severus Snape_

『• • •』

 _S;_

 _I cannot call a man paranoid when I myself am so—or perhaps I am simply 'overly cautious'. Regardless, while I was hesitant to believe your identity, the existence of my condition is a closely guarded secret of our family, and proved a member in the very least, trusts you. I will assume it truly was my sister who told you. Please do not speak nor write of it again._

 _I am well aware of the threat of my line's extinction. I do not need you to tell me such things._

 _While she did indeed betray our blood, I loved my sister. This is the only reason why I am even faintly considering your proposition._

 _All the former aside, I desire to meet this boy; and you as well, I suppose. I propose somewhere in the Muggle world, where our peers will not be as inclined to recognize us. Again, I am a cautious man, and if the boy's identity is as troublesome as you make it sound, I will take no chances._

 _But be warned: if there is any sign that you are a false and a fraud, you will regret it._

 _Dublin, Ireland. The street of our blood. Muggle world. October 1st. 9:00AM._

— _S_

『• • •』

The letter he wrote back was brief and hurried, ink splatters lining the edges:

 _S;_

 _My thanks._

— _S_

『• • •』

 _ **October 1st, 1982**_

It was half past nine when he finally appeared.

Severus was standing slightly offside Princeton Street, huddled as dignified as he could manage under the overhang of one of the apartment buildings. The rain was coming down in a miserable drizzle, heavy enough to dampen the lightest of spirits, and the sky was a sludge-like soup of gray and angry clouds. Hadrian's constant whimpering wasn't improving his mood.

"Oh, shut it, you prat," he hissed at the small child clinging to his leg.

Green eyes peered piteously up at him, large and limpid. Instead of soothing him, cracked lips twisted into a scowl, and he waved his wand, uttering a short Weather-Shielding Charm before replacing it to its holster.

To his _—_ and his temper's _—_ immediate relief, the boy quieted and hugged the fabric of his robe, pressed flush with the curve of his leg. Severus told himself that actually kicking children was abuse and a crime—but he still couldn't resist giving a slight shake of his leg, seeing if the snot-nosed brat would move.

He didn't. When a glower failed to remove him as well, Severus let out a short, growling sigh but let him be.

They were cloaked under a Notice-Me-Not and several other illusion spells, successfully diverting the small trickle of Muggles _away_ from them and towards anywhere else. Their nauseating faces and horrid clothing did little more than raise a sneer on Severus' lips; however, an early-morning drunkard soon found a stumbling path right down thestreet _—_ a path, in fact, that took him within inches of the two robe-clad figures. The sneer on his thin face morphed into a snarl, and it was only the fact that a child was present that had restrained him from casting a well-aimed curse at the cretin.

Instead, he took it upon himself to jab his wand in the man's direction and bark a Tripping Jinx, watching with satisfaction as the drunkard appeared to stumble over thin air, and then promptly fell his way into a shallow puddle. It was a small victory, perhaps a petty one, but it managed to lift his spirits enough that when he first saw the cloaked figure gliding down the street, he had half the mind to be somewhat courteous.

And then he noticed how much the figure was disconcerted with the occasional man or woman that sidestepped him as the charms he was wearing took effect, and his mood soured. Much to his annoyance, S. Prince—or rather, Septimius Prince—lived up to his claim of being an ' _overly cautious and perhaps paranoid_ ' man, which usually wouldn't be much of an issue, except…

Well, his healthy appreciation of the man's wariness was a bit ruined by the fact that he himself had forgotten to go to such measures. Severus cursed, eyeing his uncle as he approached.

It seemed that some sort of charm accompanied the Notice-Me-Not spell on the older man's face that he couldn't place—a charm that had his features odd to look at, as if the light were shining from somewhere else, or the shadows were warped across them. It painted them plain and unremarkable, ones that no one would give a second glance to on the street; the longer Severus stared, the fuzzier they and the memory he was attempting to form became.

His irritation grew.

Onyx eyes narrowed, and he had his wand in his hand with a small flick of his wrist, its presence comforting as the other wizard drew closer. Finally, the cloaked figure stopped several feet in front of him, cocked its head, and tossed something small at him. Severus' wand was out and aiming at the object before his mind could process it. It halted mid-flight, hovering there. His gaze flickered to the man and then to the object, and when he made no more movements, he wordlessly summoned it closer; as it fell into his waiting palm, he realized it was a picture frame.

His breath caught as he realized whom it was of.

Two small children ran about, a girl with pale hair falling onto the grass with a mute giggle as a boy, with black curls framing his eyes, stuck out his tongue at her and laughed. He watched the actions repeat multiple times over and over, the girl so familiar yet _not_ that he stared.

"Is that...?" All venom was gone from his voice, and Septimius gave a silent nod.

Severus managed to tear his glance away and placed the frame delicately into his robe before raising his eyes to stare at his uncle. His wand lowered.

They stood there like that—Severus still and slightly damp from the rain, Hadrian pressed against his leg, Septimius mute as his disguised face stared at them—for a few more moments. Being studied so closely made the dark-haired man's skin crawl, and Hadrian had taken up whimpering again, complaining about how hungry he was.

This time, Severus made no attempt to appease him, his gaze flickering down to his ward and then back to his uncle before speaking wryly, "I don't suppose you want to carry this out in the middle of Muggle Dublin? If you have a more private," _and dry_ , he mentally sneered, "place in which we can do this, I would be all too happy to accompany you there instead of out here in this blasted weather."

Thunder rumbled across the sky above them, as if enforcing his request.

Septimius' face-yet-not-face gained an odd quality, almost as if he was frowning at them, before nodding—still mute, of course, Severus noted with no small amount of annoyance—and spun on his heel. It was an unspoken demand that they follow, and the dark-haired man broke free of Hadrian's grasp in order to stride after him. The young child whined at him, small hands tugging at his larger one.

Exhaling sharply through his nose, nostrils flaring, Severus glared down at him and then at the back of his retreating uncle. He had no choice but to...grab the boy's hand if he had any hope of following Septimius. Hadrian tended to trip over his own feet if left to his own devices, and the last thing he needed was losing the child he had came to speak about.

The pair made after the quick-paced figure, the older of the two all but yanking the smaller one along by his hand, long strides slightly hampered by the toddler hanging off his arm. Septimius' robe remained just in sight, however, and halted in front of a house sheltered in the looming shadow of the apartment besides it, barely visible through the shrubbery and grass that had grown wild with neglect. If Severus didn't know they were in the heart of Dublin, he would've thought such a house was set in the middle of a wood.

"I see your talents don't lay in gardening," he couldn't help but sneer, while Hadrian looked up at him in frank confusion.

Septimius' stance immediately stiffened.

"No house," came a whisper from below, and Severus' head snapped to look down at wide green eyes.

"What are you talking about, you stupid boy?"

"No house," Hadrian stubbornly repeated, shaking his head.

Frustrated, although he didn't know with what, a dark eyebrow twitched. "Look, you prat, it's _right there._ Your father may have been an idiot, but I highly doubt such idiocy made you blind—"

A low voice interrupted him: "The boy is right."

"Excuse me?" His attention whirled to focus on the still-charmed face of one S. Prince, eyes narrowed. "There is _clearly a house_. Do not take me for a fool."

Septimius let out a strange sort of strangled, partially amused sound, and began to walk towards the front door of the building he had just denied the existence of. Severus opened his mouth just to tell him that, when he suddenly had the unpleasant sensation of being stared at something close to hungry curiosity, and his mouth shut.

"Perhaps I should rephrase my words; the house doesn't exist to _him_."

There was something about the specific way he worded it, the emphasis laid so intentionally that it only took a few moments for something to click in his mind. "The Fidelius?" he said incredulously; as soon as it left his mouth, however, he knew it was wrong.

The Fidelius Charm required that the secret-keeper give the location to someone else in order for that person be able to see the area hidden. In that sense, Hadrian's inability to see the house civilization had forgotten wasn't confusing in the least; however, the issue lay in the fact that _Severus_ knew where it was and could see it. And he was positive he had never been told of a building that lay in the heart of Muggle Dublin.

His uncle shook his head and pressed his hand against an invisible wall, the wards shimmering in response. There was a sudden spark of magic, and it swept out from the house, slightly ruffling Severus' hair and sending the grass around them into whispers. It was only when Hadrian let out a startled noise did he realize that the boy had gone suddenly pale, shivering violently.

" _What_ did you _do?_ " he snarled, his own magic washing over Lily's son in an attempt to sooth whatever wrong had been made. Confused, it swirled about, unsure of its purpose, before retreating back to its original owner, who was looking further and further irate as Septimius remained silent.

The ward sparked again, and Severus moved instantly, wand raised and a snapped, " _Protego,_ " at his lips, managing to cast it just as the ward met Hadrian.

When the magic continued on past the shield, as if it were nonexistent, Severus shifted his focus and pointed his wand at Septimius, hand steady and eyes flinty. "Whatever you're doing, you _will_ stop it this instant." His lips had curled into a truly ugly snarl, and his jaw trembled with rage.

Septimius waved a hand, looking as unconcerned as one possibly could, given the situation. "Don't worry. It was just the wards accepting him in."

"And it needed to attack him in order to do that? Somehow I find myself doubting your words, _uncle_." The title was laden with scorn, his contempt dripping off the word.

"Stop acting like a child," Septimius snapped at him, now sounding irritated. "These are blood wards, oh stupid nephew-mine. I can't alter them. They had to take a sample of his magic so it would recognize him next time."

Blood wards. He had heard of them, but could they really do such a thing?

And his uncle had said 'next time'... Severus could only presume that meant he intended to, in the least, see Hadrian again. However, now he wasn't sure if he _wanted_ to let him meet the boy again, let alone _adopt_ him.

When the ward remained docile and didn't spark again, onyx glared at the cloaked figure on the doorstep, wand still poised at the ready. A few more seconds trudged by, heavy and silent, before Severus looked downward. "Alright?" His tone was not unkind, but sounded rather strange, as if concern and his earlier annoyance were struggling to be heard over one another.

Hadrian let out a small hum and swayed a bit, his hand going lax in his guardian's. Milk teeth flashed as his mouth stretched in a yawn. "Sweepy."

Severus stared at him, brows slightly furrowed as he noted the sudden shift in the boy's energy level. Would taking a small sliver of someone's magic cause that much fatigue? Or perhaps the effect was amplified, due to the small size and instability of a minor's magical core... Most magical children were sent to school just before puberty, around the age of eleven, because their cores were starting to settle but still able to be shaped and directed.

A sudden fear struck him, and horror coiled in the pit of his stomach. Was it possible that this small act unbalanced his core? There was no reason to think so, but if it were to happen, to have a child with a core that was unstable—it would be disastrous.

"Are you entering or not?" The dismissive way in which the other man spoke had Severus wondering if he was, perhaps, overreacting to the entire ordeal.

However, he was not one to so easily dismiss such a thing; but, despite his misgivings, he pulled Hadrian along up the wooden steps. Weeds and flora tugged greedily at their feet, as if hoping to trip them, and the rotting wood moaned beneath their weight. Severus glowered warningly at Septimius as the other opened the door. "If anything else happens..."

His uncle waited a heartbeat before answering, voice flat, "Just remember it was you who asked for this meeting, not I."

And with that, he slipped inside the overgrown house, leaving the pair in the doorframe. After a second's hesitation, Severus followed, eyes immediately taking in the front room.

Septimius had, no doubt, disappeared into one of many doors that had somehow managed to cram themselves in the few feet of wall to their left and right, while one to their left was open ajar in an obvious sign to enter. However, he let himself study the house of his uncle for a few more minutes, gaze falling on the empty portrait that hung on the wall immediately in front of them, and then to the small plaque beneath.

' _Nero Severus Prince'_

 _'A prince to outlive all kings._ '

There was a certain amount of irony there, the wizard thought. The middle name wasn't surprising—most wizarding families reused names. Pure-bloods were most guilty of it, often repeating the same name for generations if so desired. Lucius's name itself had come from his several-generations-old grandfather who had been alive sometime around the sixteenth century. It was odd that it had been so long since its first use, and Severus had said so; but then Lucius, with equal amounts of embarrassment and haughtiness, had told him of the incident between Lucius Malfoy I and Queen Elizabeth I.

After that, Severus simply wondered if the Malfoys named Lucius II as such for his name of a Roman emperor, rather than because of his ancestor.

The irony, he supposed, came from the epithet itself, combined with Nero Severus Prince's name. Both Nero and Severus were emperors, kings in their own time, combined with the surname 'Prince'...

Well. Either his ancestors had a profound sense of humor or pride—with pure-bloods, it was always hard to tell.

The portrait was empty. Nero had obviously gone to a different frame, and the uninteresting background quickly lost Severus' attention. His focus then shifted to the faded wallpaper, the washed out hues looking as if they once resembled something blue, and to the flickering candles on the walls. The weak, shivering flames cast a poor light over the hall, illuminating some areas with a pale tongue while others were plunged into darkness; a distinct creak cut through the quiet that had fallen, and a figure made its way down the stairs, each footfall punctuated by a shriek of the floorboards.

Severus fleetingly had the thought that it resembled Spinner's End far too greatly to ever be of much comfort.

Septimius, now uncloaked and disillusioned, stopped at the foot of the winding, haggard flight of uneven steps; he couldn't help but stare at his uncle in silence, eyes greedily taking in his only living relative despite the wary shift his stance had made.

Clearly into his older years, silver streaked its way through dark hair that—in spite the fact it was pulled back at the nape—sprung free around his ears and jaw. Whereas his mother had been given stronger, broader features, Septimius seemed to be almost lean, with a sharp nose and a stern mouth that was currently drawn into a flat, unimpressed line. Lidded gray eyes glinted with cynical intelligence from beneath slanted brows; they were nearly twin to his mother's own, and while the rest of Septimius' appearance seemed to all but deny the fact they were related, he inherited the same gaze as his sister.

He had little doubt that Septimius Prince had once been striking, like most pure-bloods were, and had caught the eyes of many—however, time and fatigue had caused high cheekbones to look gaunt rather than flattering, and pale skin creased unhappily around the corners of his mouth and eyes. Slender limbs had turned into sharp angles and unforgiving lines beneath his robe, and his tall frame was bent oddly, shoulders hunched as if he was in pain.

Septimius made a noise in the back of his throat, and his expression impossibly darkened. Apparently, he did not take too kindly to being stared at.

Severus couldn't fault him for it.

"Sit in there." The command—and that's what it was, a command—was accompanied by a hand flung in the direction of the open door.

Severus didn't bother to give a slight incline of his head before stalking into the room, Hadrian in hand. Simply choosing to sit on the closest available sofa, Severus did so; the worn seat immediately sagged beneath his weight. He struggled to not sink into it while remaining dignified, and could only feel rather thankful when he did so before their host appeared.

 _Blasted thing_. One would think that the sole survivor of the Prince line would be able to afford such a petty thing like a sofa that actually was able to act as such. A scowl now firmly in place, his brow lowering, he glared at the boy tugging weakly on the fabric of his robe.

"Sevwus," Hadrian implored, and there were those _damn green eyes_ again; Severus let out an irritated sigh before lifting him up and setting him next to him on the sofa-shaped sinkhole.

The brat grinned stupidly at him before promptly curling up and placing his head on his thigh like he was some domestic _creature_.

Just as Severus was going to shove him back onto the floor _,_ regretting his momentary lapse in judgment, Septimius walked through the door, carrying a tray which held a mismatched set of cups and saucers, as well as a howling teakettle which had all the looks of a house-charm gone wrong.

Immediately, his glower turned into a silent sneer of distaste, hypocritically ignoring the fact that his own set of cups at Spinner's End bore a painful resemblance to the miscellany of teacups on the tray. Some were cracked pastels while others were half-melted neon; regardless of paint quality or shade, they all huddled around the pot like some sort of damning, poisonous menagerie. The kettle's state made Severus wary to pick any of them, despite Septimius' obvious impatience that he choose.

Was there any way to decline without possibly turning this entire meeting on its head?

A glance upward revealed that gray eyes were gleaming with some sort of emotion, something thinly unimpressed, which had his own onyx ones jerking back down, fingers choosing a cup a random. He grimaced when it wound up being the one the color of bright rose with cheery sprites dancing around its base, arms linked.

Sprites weren't even _nice_ , dammit. Since when did witches start fancying putting little bastards with pointy, human-loving teeth on bloody _teacups?_

With a wave of Septimius' hand, the still-howling pot rose and poured steaming tea into his cup, and then rotated to pour into Severus'. He had the distinct sensation that it was _cross_ at him as he cautiously moved away from it, although he couldn't figure out why.

The pot came to rest on the tray, now letting out soft hoots every odd while—Severus _itched_ to bring it to the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office—and Septimius took a neat sip of his tea.

Severus was content to hold his eye-burning cup between his hands, carefully leaning away from it.

"I assume you have heard of blood wards through word of mouth, but have never actually seen them, correct?" Septimius' voice came out quiet and rich, if not slightly accented by something that sounded Gaelic in origin.

Ah. So they weren't going to address the proverbial dragon in the room? Severus nodded warily, no more than a dip of his chin.

His uncle continued, "They are similar to the Fidelius in the manner that certain conditions must be met in order for someone to see what was warded in the first place. However, there is no secret-keeper. The ward itself it erected with the blood of one or more parties, and only those with that blood directly descended from that blood, as well as the original donors, are able to slip past the wards."

Severus narrowed his eyes. It was true, blood wards had been mentioned in a few of the Dark texts he had read, but it had been mostly in passing. He didn't think that the actual warding _itself_ was Dark, despite of where it was writ, but rather that the families—most likely pure-bloods—were who used it. Light bloodlines, allegedly, had nothing to hide, so why would they use wordings that only those of their blood could access?

He'd managed to draw a few assumptions of his own—that it was created using blood of a family, and that blood had something to do with the protection—but Septimius' explanation fit the few clues dropped in readings together rather nicely. However, that still left him with one question.

"And his magic?" There was no mistaking who he was referring to.

The black-haired wizard sent an impassive look at the small boy resting on his lap. "As I said, no one can alter the wards once they are set," here he paused, taking another sip of tea; then gray eyes cut sharply up to him, and Severus blinked. "However, a donor can make...exceptions to the ward. It won't recognize anyone else of the boy's blood, but it will recognize _him_."

Something was off about that sentence. "You're a donor?"

"Yes."

"It isn't the entire House—"

"No."

Annoyance biting at him for being so rudely cut off, Severus stared into the tea steaming in his cup. So, this house wasn't visible to the entirety of the House of Prince? Septimius wouldn't be able to alter the wards, as he claimed, unless he was a donor. If Severus could see it...that meant his mother had been a donor as well.

 _How close were Septimius and Mother?_

But since only the donator's descendants could view past the wards, that meant that Septimius had taken him to the house thinking that he _wouldn't_ see it. He remembered the almost startled stance his uncle had upon his statement that the house was visible, and his lips thinned. "You thought I was lying."

"Indeed," Septimius said, setting down his cup on the tray floating between them. A click of his fingers, and the entire serving platter disappeared, along with Severus' still-full cup. Unappreciative of the unforewarned magic, the dark-haired man glared at him.

His uncle folded his arms and leaned back in his chair—which looked to be in considerable better shape than their sofa, he noticed irritably. Gray eyes stared at Hadrian with calculating coolness, and Severus scowled.

He didn't like the glint in his eye. It too closely resembled the damned twinkle in Dumbledore's when the man found something particularly interesting. Different than his usually amused twinkle, or the gleam when he felt like acting wise and above everyone else—it wasn't unlike the cold distance that he had shown when Severus had come to him those few years ago.

Now another person was showing that sort of emotional reservation, as if he found the entire situation mildly distasteful. Severus felt distinctly unsettled.

And as a Slytherin, he did most certainly _not_ like feeling like that.

"I will adopt the boy."

The Potions Master blinked, torn from his suspicious thoughts, wondering if he misheard him. When Septimius made no move to speak again, Severus spoke instead, voice icy, "What—"

"It is clear that you are my sister's son." Once again, he was cut off, and Severus' lip curled in a sneer of dislike at the older man across from him. Septimius gave him a faintly unimpressed look. "Make no mistake, I am only helping you because of that fact, and that fact only."

As if the man was considering adopting the boy out of the good of his heart—Severus inwardly scoffed. No witch or wizard in their right mind would just wordlessly accept a child through a blood adoption; the ritual itself was taxing, and its results were binding. Blood, genetics, magic, line gifts—all of them were transferable, depending on how closely the initiator wished to be linked to the person they were adopting in. However, it was impossible to undo, as if the subject had truly been born to the line in the first place.

A need for an heir or desperate loneliness is what usually drove witches and wizards to consider such a thing. Sometimes, occasionally, it was a political move, a lion that had coddled up to the lamb with no other intentions then devouring it.

Severus thought it somewhat funny, in a sardonic manner, that it was also considered a 'Dark Art'. At least, the Ministry classified it as such, due to the binding nature of the contract and the power needed to conduct it. Bloody fools. They tossed everything even _remotely_ magically related to blood into a box of moral ambiguity, which forbid anyone with an aversion to even mild Dark Arts from using it. Were those who wanted an heir but unable to bare one so vilified if they chose to adopt through blood?

Not that Severus could understand the desire for a child; personally, he thought they were all snotty little bastards who would be better off forcibly disciplined then coddled. _Especially_ certain cocky pure-bloods.

But that was a course of thoughts that he didn't want to bother with at the moment.

"However, I _am_ rather curious about one thing."

Irish-lilted words cut suddenly through the quiet, and Severus started. Of course, he did so with as much decorum as any self-respecting Slytherin would, so the only sign that he was startled was a mere, brief widening of his eyes and a twitch of a finger. Otherwise, the man remained still, eyes flickering upwards from where they had unconsciously settled on the slumbering face of Hadrian.

Apparently, Septimius took his silence as acquiescence to continue. "Why is a Death Eater protecting a child?"

What?

 _What?_

"I don't know what you mean," said Severus slowly. His hand tightened imperceptibly where it had fallen into Hadrian's curls. His mind suddenly plunged into a whirl of uneasiness and fear—fear, because if this man, this _stranger,_ had discovered his allegiance while others only suspected as such, what lay in his future?

Would the man out him? Turn on him? Condemn him to the hellish imprisonment of Azkaban after all his pretty words of love for his sister?

What would be the end of Hadrian Prince?

Somehow, that thought brought more worry to Severus then the looming threat of his arrest. Lily's son would be lost among a family who neither knew who his was or what had befallen him, lost to _him_. He would lose the only thing he had left of Lily Evans, and that terrified him far more than any Dementor.

"Severus Tobias Snape," began the man across from him in the bored, monotonous tone of someone reciting a speech that they personally found a waste of time and oxygen, "son of a pure-blood witch named Eileen Julia Snape _neé_ Prince and a Muggle, Tobias Markus Snape. Born in 1960. Attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry from 1971 to 1978. Highest marks were in Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts."

Severus thought that his spew of information would end there, and was momentarily relieved; none of that was even close enough to prove that he was a Death Eater, short of lifting his sleeve and making him bare his forearm. However, the pause had been for the Prince Lord to inhale a short take of breath before continuing. The hope that had been fluttering in his chest violently plummeted.

"Closest known associates are the Malfoys and the Lestranges; one family of which is currently in Azkaban as of last year for serving under the Dark Lord known as Voldemort, while the other is suspected of as much."

Lucius was being investigated? He knew of the Lestranges and Bellatrix's banishment shortly after Halloween, but the papers had been mum regarding the pale-haired Malfoy. This information was hastily thrown out of the focus, however, in favor for wondering how fast he could hex and Obliviate the man before he reacted. Or if there were any anti-Apparition wards around the house.

As if he had noticed Severus' suddenly tense frame, and the dark eyes that now shone with the wary, cornered look of a tiger before an armed man, Septimius offered him a look that could be, with a great amount of trust and optimism, perceived as soothing. The younger man just thought it looked darkly amused. "I am curious," Septimius spoke as if it were an explanation, "because the Dark Lord's followers aren't known for being particularly kind-hearted."

If anything, that sounded more akin to a thinly veiled accusation then a reason for his words. The air left Severus' lungs in a sharp hiss. "Bearing the Mark does not make me a monster."

"Doesn't it?" The calm curiosity present in his uncle's voice made the other wish to strike him—an act that he wouldn't deign to commit, but his hand twitched nonetheless at the thought.

"I knew his mother."

"And his father?"

"Unimportant," Severus sneered.

Septimius gave a slow nod, as if mulling over this information. What, exactly, there was to mull over, he had no idea. "Were you lovers?"

Blinking sharply, disgust and nausea immediately rose in his throat, and he felt the sudden urge to vomit at the mere _notion_ that he would be involved like—like _that_ with _Potter_ of all people. "No!" His sudden burst of anger seemed to surprise Septimius, whose eyebrows rose into his hairline. Composing himself with far more poise than he knew he possessed, repulsion filling his words with barely repressed venom, he managed to speak in a calmer tone of voice. Not much calmer, but enough that spittle was no longer flying from his lips. " _No_ , he and I were…not."

"Hm." The small noise, accompanied by a suspicious twitch of his lips, marked the end of that line of inquiry, and Severus' glower shifted from disgust to a simmering wariness. He had a feeling that the actual conversation was far from over. That feeling was only solidified when Septimius steepled his fingers under his chin, tilting his head back to look at the ceiling. Given the state of the rest of the house, Severus was fairly certain there were at least seven types of mold and more than a handful of fungi species lurking above their heads.

He possessed no desire to _look_ at the bloody things, however.

Septimius let out another noise, this one a half-sigh and a half-hum; his eyes still stared at the ceiling. They seemed to flicker towards them for a moment, and his mouth moved as if to speak, but the action was so fleeting that Severus was positive it had been an effect of the dreadful lighting casting gray ghosts across the room and their faces.

Nonetheless, he silently waited for him to speak again, not trusting himself to say something that wouldn't ruin his efforts of tracking the man down in the first place. In doing so, his eyes slipped to look at the dark head currently nestled against his leg. It was with no small amount of disgust and partial horror that he noticed the small dribbles of saliva pooling there. Sweet Circe, why did _anyone_ ever _willingly_ create one of these beasts? It was little wonder that the Weasleys had such tattered garments, then, if this is what their cloaks and robes had to suffer through after each child.

If Severus remembered correctly, there were seven of them.

 _Seven_.

Sweet _Circe_. Perhaps the number had deeper ties to Dark magic? It would certainly explain its curse-like effects on the ginger blood traitors.

"Would knowing the boy's identity put my life at risk?"

Severus blinked once, then twice, and lifted his head to stare expressionlessly at his uncle. He answered truthfully and without much feeling, lips curling. "Most likely."

"Then I do not wish to know it."

 _Coward._ The accusation filled his mind on reflex, although it had no business being there. Could a coward call another person a coward? Hypocritically, of course, but was Severus _really_ a coward? He'd come through in the end, had he not—hadn't he delivered the prophecy to Dumbledore's feet? Risked his life as a spy? He wasn't a coward, no. But this man, this…uncle of his—had he done _anything_ of actual worth? He had failed to keep his own sister from harm, had failed to protect her from her brute of a husband. Yes, Severus had failed as well. But at least he had _tried_.

Still rather rattled at the barrage of information and poorly concealed interrogation, Severus was suddenly and acutely aware of the fact that he knew nothing of his uncle other than his name. Abruptly, he said, "I am afraid you have me at a disadvantage, Lord Prince. I know nothing about you other than your appearance and your kin."

"That's more than most are privilege to."

"Do you have such an inflated opinion of yourself, uncle?" The words fell from his lips unbidden, filled with contempt; Septimius raised an eyebrow at his slip.

Septimius let out a dry laugh, leaning back in his seat. "No," he said, waving his hand dismissively, "I simply don't make a habit of having tea with my siblings' bastards."

Severus bristled at the term, fingers tightening on Hadrian's hair until the knuckles were pale with the lack of blood. Whether it had been a miserable attempt to introduce levity into the situation or his uncle's true opinion, he didn't know, but it did succeed in making his fingers itch out of want for his wand.

Ignoring the fierce glare that was being aimed at him by his nephew, the older wizard continued, "My name is Septimius Avitus Prince, and I believe you knew that already with the exception of my middle name. If not, well…" A condescending huff of air was exhaled through his nose, and Severus' glare turned icy. "I was born in 1935. I attended Durmstrang."

Severus sneered. "How informative."

"I aim to please." His fingers steepled themselves under his chin, and he tilted his head at the small child in his lap. "Now, wake the boy, if you would. We're going to carry out the ceremony."

" _Now?"_

"Time waits for no man, Severus Snape. Not even a barren, virtually eunuchoid Lord such as myself."

Despite his incredulousness—surely, some amount of prep work was required for such a ritual and surely the man needed some amount of time to get everything set up—Severus jostled the child sprawled on the couch, who had apparently fallen asleep at some point. "Wake up, prat," he snapped. If the boy awoke with his usual tantrums…

"Whazza?" the boy said blearily.

On a normal day, Severus lacked the patience to entertain his sleep-addled confusions. Today, that small thimbleful of restraint he usually possessed to _not_ shake the brat so hard his brain rattled was nonexistent; firmly, he grasped the boy's razor-thin shoulder, sharp under the baby fat. "Get up," he barked. "You're about to get a father."

Hadrian blinked, clearly still bemused, but slipped off the couch anyhow. His eyes were watering, and Severus wondered how coddled the boy had been before, to look on the verge of tears after a mere reprimand—Merlin knew sharp words were a _blessing_ when he was a boy.

Septimius made an odd sort of noise in the back of his throat, and Severus could see him staring in his peripheral vision. "I see you have a gift with handling children." His words sounded slightly stilted.

His proverbial hackles immediately rose. "At least I can manage him better then you your yard." _Sloppy_ , he reprimanded himself. That retort was befitting of a Hufflepuff, not a Slytherin.

The older man didn't deign to reply; he stood from the couch, lips set in a firm line, and said a soft and imperative, "Come."

And they, unquestioningly, did so—Severus, from the knowledge that his uncle now held the advantage, and Hadrian from mere simplemindedness. He hoped the boy outgrew that. Unquestioningly following figures of power was what had landed him in this mess in the first place, and he'd be thrice damned if he let the same happen to Lily's son.

Septimius led them out of the sitting room and back into the hall, turning the corner and entering a long, narrow room; the air felt immediately cooler than that of the rest of the house. Severus grasped at the boy's arm, fingers flexing out of nerves, and warily cast his gaze about. A chandelier hung from the ceiling, delicate whirls of rusting metal laden with fangs of yellowing crystal looming above a dining table that was...odd, in some way or form. _Ah_. There were no chairs. He looked sharply about the walls, locating the shadowed corpses of what were probably the dining chairs shoved into one of the corners. Severus frowned. Noting the candles placed in a circle on the table's surface, he moved towards it, mirroring Septimius, but it was only upon getting closer did the dark ink distinguish itself from the even darker wood.

Runes. There were circles and scripts of the sigils, winding in hopeless, hapless, patterns and shapes, the likes of which Severus would never be able to understand. Briefly, he regretted his decision to not take Ancient Runes—he could pick out a few, eiwaz and eihaz and laguz, simply due to their mentions in some Potions manuals—but even without any mastery of the subject it was blatantly apparent that Septimius Prince was no mere layperson when it came to runes.

"Put the boy on the table; center of the matrix, sitting down."

The younger man bent down and grasped Hadrian under his arms, hauling him up and onto the dining table in a series of jolted movements. Hadrian make a noise of surprise, but wisely did nothing but squirm once before settling.

"What's his name?"

Severus stilled. "Didn't you say—"

"Not his _real_ name; I don't have a death wish. The name that you gave him."

"Ah. Hadrian Niccolo Prince," he said carefully, tasting each syllable as he spoke them. After the first week, Severus couldn't bare to call the boy _that_ name, the name that Lily and Potter had chosen, the name that people now whispered with the sort of piety and reverence usually reserved for gods. Also, it would be idiotic to keep the boy's name the same, especially since what he'd done was every definition of kidnapping.

Severus Snape, Death Eater, murderer, child kidnapper, and spy—Rita Skeeter would surely have a field day with that one, if she ever got her disgustingly manicured hands on the information.

A dry cough interrupted his thoughts, and he realized that Septimius had been laughing…or attempting to, anyhow. "Niccolo," the man repeated, tone wry. "I hadn't really taken you to be a follower of Muggle philosophy."

He narrowed his eyes at him. "Machiavelli was a half-blood," he corrected. "But that aside, I feel it fair to point out it was more of a lack of imagination on my part, given that he was the author of—"

" _'The Prince'_." Septimius nodded, looking thoughtful. "Clever."

Clever? Severus hadn't come here to be called _clever_. It was a name, and nothing more than that: a name. He'd chosen Hadrian as a tribute to Lily's wish to name the boy Harry—and he tried not to dwell too much on the idea that Potter, perhaps, had been the one to choose the name—but the rest of the child's identity was now gone.

Some of his irritation must have gotten through to his uncle, because the other wizard coughed again and straightened, nodding quick and shallow, like a bird. "Aye. We will begin now. I assume you know the ceremonials?"

Did he know the ceremonials? He resisted the urge to scoff, but just barely.

In response, Severus took a step forward, waving his wand and lighting three of the seven candles. "I, Severus Tobias Snape," he intoned, dark eyes sharp as he stared down Septimius from where he stood, "hereby proclaim myself as overseer of this bonding. My magic shall bind thee with full intent; if thou sever thy vow, it shall pursue thee until the damage is compensated—so mote it be." The words felt heavy as he said them, full with power in a way he hadn't felt since his initiation ceremony, and the hair on his nape prickled.

On the other side of the table, his uncle lit the same number of candles, only leaving the one before Hadrian unlit. "I, Septimius Avitus Prince, hereby proclaim that I shall foster thee, now and forever by the name of Hadrian Niccolo Prince, as if thee are mine blood," the man recited, voice steady; he reached forward, smearing a dark smudge of red across Hadrian's forehead.

Slowly, the runes began to flicker to life, now pulsating a cool blue. Severus eyed them for a moment; he _knew_ that blood magic was usually more complicated than this, typically involving multiple witches and wizards, and usually involved far more blood and wild magic than runes. _I wonder…_

"Thy injury is my hurt," the blue grew brighter, "thy health is as mine own," the blue was now darker, "and thy blood shall be no easily spilled then as my blood is spilled." Another dart of his fingers accompanied each promise, and soon the boy's face was decorated in wild, primordial markings, which seemed to hum. The sigils blazed cobalt. "Hadrian Niccolo Prince, I give thou my name and blood, so that what is mine shall be thine; I give thou my heredity, so that that thou shall not be mistaken for a stranger among the midst of my kin; I give thou my protection, so that thy body and mind shall remain unharmed in times of threat; I give thou my magic, and ask for thy magic in return, so that thou are part of me and I am of thou; I pledge all of this on my magic, so mote it be."

The air was _vibrating_ , quivering with the weight of the blood magic and making each breath he took feel like he was dragging it out from treacle. He could feel his magic stretching and rolling about almost lazily, pouring out of him as if he had no control over it.

Hadrian's hair was floating about him, crackling with static, and his green eyes were wide with something—Severus hoped it was wonder and not fear. After several moments the boy nodded, smiling, and clapped his pudgy hands. A bright band of energy suddenly flickered into existence on one of his fingers.

"So mwote it be," he agreed, and the candle before him burst into flames.

『• • •』

 _ **March 17th, 1983**_

 _Boom._

Calmly, he turned the page. ' _As the author discussed in the chapter covering the foundations of magic, Western Witches and Wizards, particularly the_ maheka-lala _, or the Curse-Breakers of Gringotts are still—_ '

 _Pop-pop-pop._

He felt his fingers twitch. For a moment, he paused, poised on the brink of snapping the book shut and stalking off to the bedroom, where the wards would block out the sounds, instead of remaining in the warmed study, but it was silent. Severus exhaled a measured breath through his nose, and resumed reading. _'…are still s_ _eeking the true nature of Egyptian Magic, or_ heka _. In fact, the Magical communities of Egypt now have no recollection of this heritage of powerful and advanced magic either, and_ —'

 _Crackle. Boom. BOOM._

'— _the magic practiced there now can best be characterized as Western in nature._ '

Maybe if he ignored it, the Muggles would tire themselves out? The man cast a brief glance at the clock on the mantle before scowling. It was fifteen minutes to twelve. This holiday, from what Severus recalled of it, was called St. Patrick's Day—it was the most loathsome sort of holiday, used as an excuse to go out and get drunk and then light up a ridiculous amount of fireworks. Thankfully it wasn't as bad as it would be if they lived in Ireland.

Apparently, the Irish wizarding community was quite…fond of going all out in the name of some dead man.

 _Bang!_

This time the noise had come within the house, and Severus looked up as the door to the study was forcefully pushed open.

"Sevwus! What are the boom-booms outside?"

He cast a dry glance at the small boy, momentarily torn between ignoring his question and continuing his reading; that choice was taken away from him, however, when Hadrian dashed over to him in the haphazard way that all young children did, movements awkward, and planted his hands on the pages of the very book he was reading.

"Sevwus!" he said again. "What—" his palms slapped against the paper, "—are—" he repeated the action again, "—the boom-booms?"

Spitefully, Severus began to close the book, catching the boy's small hands between the ends.

With a small yelp, he withdrew them. A silver band around his left forefinger glinted in the candlelight as he nursed his fingers sulkily.

"What," he began, voice soft, "have I told you about bothering me, Hadrian?"

Hadrian immediately looked chagrined, cheeks slightly dark. "…Sowwy," he mumbled. "Sowwy for disturbing your weading time, Sevwus."

"Indeed." The man glanced down at the cover of his book, slightly disappointed that he didn't get to finish the chapter. He'd be trying to learn more about Egyptian magic, to learn more about whatever Septimius had obviously used to supplement the blood ritual; the usual venues had failed, along with some of the less…savory ones. Runes weren't used in any community nearly so much as they were in Egypt, but they guarded their knowledge jealously. And so, he'd been forced to go back to basic sources: textbooks.

At this point, however, the interest was largely more academic than practical.

With a sigh, he shifted his gaze to the boy before him, who had his hands clasped behind his back and was wearing a sheepish expression. "Now, what did you want?"

Hadrian looked warily up at him. "I, um, was wondering 'bout the boom-booms," he said carefully. "They're in the sky, and they're a bunch o' different colors. Are they magic?"

"Magic?" He supposed that a child _could_ mistake them for magic, given how sudden and mysterious they seemed. _Boom-booms, indeed,_ Severus thought dryly. "No, they're not. They're called fireworks."

"Fire…works?"

"Muggle technology," he explained dismissively. "They tried to copy our magic without knowing what it was, and that…" his head tilted towards the covered window, "is the result."

"Oh. Muggles are weally smart!"

"No, they're not."

"But they copied magic, yeah?"

Severus scowled. "Never mistake the Muggles' fear of the unknown for intelligence, Hadrian." His tone was sharp, but his gaze was sharper. "They imitate us because they fear us, and they fear us because they can't control us. That's why it's against the Statute to let them know about us, understand?"

The boy wilted, looking hurt. For a few moments, he was quiet, face scrunched up in thought; and then he said: "Muggles…don't like us?"

"Hate, boy," he corrected. _Beer on his breath, which was normal, rings on his fingers tonight, meaning the slaps will hurt; all he brings is insults and hurt and Severus hates him,_ hates _him with the burning sort of hate that surpasses that which he feels for Potter—_ Severus rubbed a hand over his face, suddenly tired. "They hate us. Ignorance leads to fear, fear leads to hate, hate leads to violence, and the Muggles have more violence than they know what to do with."

Hadrian was silent again before nodding, somber in the way only children could be, before muttering a "goodnight" and leaving the room.

Severus leaned back in his chair and resumed his reading. ' _However, one of the ingredients endemic to Potions in Northern Africa, particularly those brewed in Morocco, contains flowers and essential oils from the argan tree, a species of tree in the Sous valley..._ '

『• • •』

 _ **December 23rd, 1984**_

It was sometime around four o'clock in the morning when Remy popped into his room, eyes fearfully wide, and squeaked, "Master Severus, sir!"

Groggily, the man stirred, lifting his head. "What is it, Remy?"

"Young Master Hadrian is being on fire!"

He blinked. " _What?_ " Surely, he had heard that wrong. Hadrian, on fire? Severus blinked once at the diminutive house-elf before scowling and dropping his head back onto his pillow. He would have to put better locks on the firewhiskey, it seemed—he couldn't have Remy getting smashed and then finding it funny to report utter nonsense to him.

"The Young Master is being on fire!" he repeated again, sounding stressed. "He is be crying and on fire!"

"Well, just make him… _not_ on fire, then, Remy," Severus bit out, stumbling inelegantly over his words. Merlin, it was too early for this bullshit.

"Remy _can't!_ " the house-elf wailed, clutching at his ears. "Remy _can't_ be stopping the fire because the fire is being the Young Master's magic! Remy can't be hurting Young Master!"

At this, the seemingly nonsensical words of the elf clicked abruptly in his mind, and Severus sat bolt upright. "Accidental magic?" he demanded.

Remy's head bobbed furiously. "Yes, yes! Master Severus must be stopping it! The fire is being bigger and bigger!"

With a curse, the man threw off his covers and stumbled from the warm security of his bed sheets, pulling on a thicker robe over the thinner layer of his nightclothes in order to shield himself from the house's ever-present chill. Severus burst from his room and shoved open the door across the hall, and the moment he stepped through the silencing wards he was confronted with both the sounds of loud screams and the sight of flames.

He wasn't sure which was more terrifying.

"Hadrian!" he snapped, but the boy continued to wail, clutching his blankets to his chest. His oil-black curls were alight with fire, and the flames had spread to the walls, tongues greedily licking up the bone-dry wallpaper and age-old wood. Severus barked the boy's name once more, but when it failed to distract him from his crying he drew his wand from his sleeve.

" _Aqua Eructo!"_

A stream of cold water bitterly assaulted the flames, and they withered and died with protesting hisses, smoke quickly filling the room. After several minutes of carefully aiming the spell and chasing down any straying flickers, he finally cancelled the spell; he stood there, staring at the now-drenched boy on the bed who was staring back at him with large, wet eyes.

"Sevwus," he sniffed, swiping a sooty hand against his nose. "I'm sowwy—I couldn't—I didn't mean to bother you—Remy couldn't stop it and I was scared and—"

" _Hadrian_." He cut him off with a single, sharp word. "What happened?"

"I was cold." The boy let out a whimper. "I was cold and—and then the fire jus' _came_ —"

As he continued to babble, Severus slowly approached him, eventually coming close enough to lay a wary hand on the child's back. His shoulders were shuddering as he heaved great, trembling sobs, tears spilling over and leaving clean tracks down his ash-stained face; thankfully, other than the dust, he appeared to be otherwise unharmed.

Some part of him wanted to knock out the boy with a deftly done _stupefy,_ but he had little doubt that Septimius had some sort of warning system or connection in place. Instead, as Hadrian slowly calmed himself from his fit, the wizard stalked out of the room and came back with both a Calming and Sleeping Draught, shoving them both at the boy; with the tiniest of pauses, he drank them, coughing when one of his sobs met with his swallow, but otherwise remained complacent.

He had been already visibly tired, given from the glassy sheen to his green eyes, but the two draughts together would ensure that he would fall asleep soon without further incident.

And so, Severus went back to bed, feeling a deep ache in his bones and satisfied with the knowledge that the newly updated wards around the room would alert him to any more incidents.

『• • •』

 _ **October 31st, 1985**_

In the cool autumn air their breaths were pale, shivering ghosts among the red and gold brilliance of the trees. While the grass was dead and limp beneath their feet, the littered corpses of leaves crunched as they stepped over them; Hadrian took a particular sort of joy in taking a leap every other step, yanking forcefully on Severus' arm as he'd stomp down on whatever poor leaf he had singled out in particular. Had it been any other day, he would have cared more, would have reprimanded him, but right now it was all he could do to stop himself from shattering completely.

"Hey, Sevwus?"

He made a noise in his throat to show he was listening, but couldn't rip his gaze away from the tombstone. _In loving memory of James and Lily Potter: the last enemy that shall be destroyed is death._

"The last enemy to be destroyed…" he whispered.

Hadrian blinked up at him, green eyes bright and curious. In his hands was the bundle of lilies, white as snow, that Severus had demanded he carry; he hadn't trusted himself to not accidently crush them.

It was his first visit here after four years.

Four years.

Four years since he'd betrayed Voldemort, four years since he'd allied with Dumbledore, four years since the Potters had been killed, four years since Harry Potter had _caused_ the Potters to be killed.

 _Four years._

He tried not to think of the true name of the child next to him.

Hadrian's soft, boyish voice asked: "Whose gwavestone is this?"

"This, Hadrian," he said, staring at the alabaster stone with numb eyes, "is the gravestone of the two stupidest—" _bravest_ , "—people I ever knew."

His brow furrowed. "Stupidest?"

"They…" Severus trailed off.

"Why?" At the young boy's question, he glanced down, meeting Hadrian's inquisitive stare. "Why were they stupid?"

"Because they didn't listen to the right people; because they listened to an old man, an old, _foolish_ man with idiotic ideals; because they didn't recognize danger for what it was; because they are _dead_ ," the last word was spat venomously, as if its acidity would be enough to dissolve the tomb before them and reverse its meaning. "Because," he said, breathing laboriously, "Hadrian, they sacrificed themselves for a cause that does not, _can_ not, love them back."

And with that, he spun on his heel, cloak billowing behind him, and stalked off towards the graveyard entrance; his boots crunched leaves underfoot with every step, and he could easily pretend that the stinging in his eyes was on account of the cold.

After several moments, there was the sound of footfalls quickly approaching, and Hadrian drew up alongside him, hands shoved in his pockets and the tips of his ears and nose a dusky red. He carried no lilies with him.

* * *

 **A/N: And the second chapter is finished!**

 **I have no Beta at the moment, so please excuse any errors—I hope the ones that _are_ there aren't too bad. Please, feel free to comment or PM me if you notice any, or if there's any canon fact that I've mistaken and didn't address in the A/N. If anyone would be willing to Beta I would be **_**extremely**_ **grateful.**

 **Also, the chapters of Part One might be shorter (or longer, depending) than the ones in other parts—as much as I love writing, I enjoy writing dialogue more than narrative, to be honest. And a whoooole lot of this part is groundwork and details and headaches.**

 **Also! Snape is probably coming off as a dick—this is completely purposeful. As for his views on Muggles, his father was one (as we all know) and I can't imagine his opinion of them is very kind. Also please keep in mind that Snape it literally an angry, vengeful young adult (Snape's twenty or twenty-one when the Potters are killed) who was recently tasked with taking care of a kid he took in,** _ **with no prior experience whatsoever**_ **. He doesn't strike me as a kid-person, funnily enough.**

 **And Snape obviously has some…issues. He doesn't deal well (see: the childhood grudge he carried for over a decade).**

 **The content of the book that Snape was reading is actually from '** _ **Magical Drafts and Potions**_ **' on www . hogwartsishere . com, by Professor Batyaeva. This is partially because I'm uninventive as fuck when it comes to world-building, but mostly because I actually read it and found it interesting? So yeah, any interested parties should check that out.**

 **If it wouldn't be too much of a bother, please leave a review on your way out. I _like/need/crave_ feedback. Even if it's a simple: 'great!', I'd appreciate it. Alternatively, as said above, critiques are good too. :)**


	3. ( Part I:III ) The Bonds that Tie

**A/N:** _ **This chapter is dedicated to Alan Rickman, may he rest in peace.**_

* * *

 **OF MONSTERS AND MEN**

 **part one, chapter three: the bonds that tie**

 _ **1986**_

* * *

" _Nobody ever did, or ever will, escape the consequences of his choices."_

— Alfred A. Montapert

* * *

 _ **March 4th, 1986**_

"'M Hadrian."

"Draco Malfoy. Nice to meet you."

Severus couldn't decide whether he should sneer or scowl at the Malfoy Heir's sudden interest in his ward. Staring down at the pale-haired child, he exhaled sharply in annoyance, pushing Hadrian forwards with his leg. "I have to go discuss business with Draco's father, so _behave_."

The small boy gave nod, green eyes still riveted on the pale ones across from him. "'Kay."

Severus stiffened, lips thinning in disapproval. "Okay, _Severus_."

"Okay, Sevwus."

And of _course_ the fool had somehow managed to parrot back a butchered version of his name. Why did he even bother correcting the boy? Hadrian had, inexplicitly, refused to grow out of whatever speech impediment had befallen him; his early and violent, albeit bothersome, display of magic had been promising, but with this…issue his patience was beginning to be truly tried.

 _And_ , as if the ridiculous lisp wasn't enough, the boy had somehow taken it upon himself to blunder around the house as if he'd just chugged several bottles of Ogden's. The number of times he'd been forced to levitate an object away from a perilous edge, summon him away from an inevitable death, or heal impossible bruises was growing idiotic. Rather remarkably, the only time Hadrian was content to remain quiet and still was when Severus allowed him to oversee a potion brewing—which was dangerous in and of itself, but he would gladly trade the uncontrolled danger of Hadrian's wanderings for the controlled environment Severus reigned.

Sending one last scathing glance towards his ward, the Potions Master turned on his heel, cloak billowing behind him as he went to go hunt down the elder Malfoy; he swept down the hallways of the manor, stalking unfazed past the multiple pairs of silver and blue eyes that tracked his movements from nearby portraits. His lips curled in a reflexive sneer at the large ears of the house elf that had appeared around the corner at the sound of his footfalls. After turning down several passages, lit from the windows that lined them, and through several more poorly lit ones, he came to rest in front of a pair of large doors that swallowed the entire wall.

His knuckles rapped once on the dark wood.

There was a pause, and then: " _Enter._ "

Severus pushed, and the hinges swung smoothly as they exposed the innards of Lucius' office. The curtains of the grand window across from him were drawn close, the only light coming from the candles placed around the room and the fire brooding in the dark corner ingle. They cast a somewhat depressing light across the wood and silver workings curled across the walls, making dim shadows dance and writhe across all surfaces; the effect was rather distracting, but it took less than a moment for his attention to fall to stern figure of the pale man seated in a chair near the hearth. As he drew near, Severus could pick out some discomforting details: his eyes lingered on the stubble and punishing, bruised skin beneath his eyes.

Five years. It had been five years since he had last seen Lucius Malfoy, and the years had clearly not been kind. Something, no doubt a remainder of whatever thing they had resembling friendship during Hogwarts, prodded at him to ask; Severus callously brushed it aside as he walked over to him, assuming a stiff, uncomfortable stance just off to the left. He already knew what had happened, and had no desire to further entrench himself in the pit of manipulation and lies Lucius had dug and firmly planted himself in.

The other man gave him a small nod in acknowledgement, also rising to a stand with one arm tucked behind his back, the other cradling a cup of tea that looked like it had gone cold a while ago. His gray eyes were distant.

Severus' gaze traveled about the room, making no attempt to start conversation as they trickled over the additions to the space that had been made in the past five years. A portrait of the Malfoy family; an award from the Minister; seven golden swords, hung on the wall in the fashion of a wreath; another picture of Draco; one of Narcissa. The more he looked, the more signs he'd found that Lucius had progressed beyond _him_ , beyond the Dark Lord.

Some bitter part of him wished that it'd been the same for him—to be able to put the past behind him so easily, as Lucius had. Sadly, there were certain…reminders that one couldn't simply get rid of, despite Lucius's obvious attempts to do so.

Severus' lips contorted grimly. "You've done rather well for yourself, haven't you, Lucius?"

Lucius didn't so much as flinch, but something in his gaze focused. "Don't look at me like that, Severus." His voice was a harsh whisper, and he lifted his cup to his lips. "Have you any idea what the last few years have been like for me?" He grimaced as the cold tea went down his throat, and tapped a pale finger along its side resolutely. Steam curled up from the rim of the teacup.

He had an idea, but the Potions Master would never dare to voice them aloud, not now when Lucius was clearly in one of his…moods. Whispers had reached him, even in the Muggle world, and the Daily Prophet had been blunt in their take of the events; but that surely held no candle to what was actually going on behind all the politics and clever chases, the missing wizards and witches.

Of course, Septimius, the blasted fool, had remained stubbornly silent on the entire matter, leaving him to scrounge an image from biased articles.

Unfazed by his silence, the blond man continued, sounding bitter, "I suppose you wouldn't, would you? Disappear for five years and then you show up with a _child_ and ask for a _meeting_!"

Severus's face was impassive. There was a tone to Lucius's voice, something strained and familiar and petty, and surely he wasn't going to ask—

"Is he yours?"

"No," he answered shortly. Lucius' lips twitched in a surprising display of emotion. "The boy is a relative of mine—the heir of the Prince line, as you would have it."

The blond said nothing for several moments. Pale, narrowed eyes studied his face, unblinking, before he finally spoke. "And _your_ status?"

Severus decided it would be safest to shut the topic down before it veered into a place he'd rather not go. "It's none of your business, Lucius," said the Potions Master icily.

The true reason for his visit was burning in his pocket, its existence enough to make Severus faintly ill in remembrance of what it had done. Before Lucius could reply, he slipped a hand into his cloak, his touch bypassing several dozen wards and protection spells as he removed it. It lay heavy in his palm, and he could hear the faint hissing from beneath his sleeve as his Dark Mark reacted, instinctively responding.

"Regardless," he said plainly. Lucius stared. "I have come to return this."

Lucius' hand rose. "That...is it really...?" Reverence was clear in his words, but it slowly slipped into disbelief as his gaze rose to meet Severus'.

"Indeed." The confirmation fell like a stone as his said it. "I managed to retrieve it before the Order got their hands on it." If they had, he had no doubt they would have handed it over to either Dumbledore, Aurors or the Department of Mysteries—any of which would waste no time in dismantling or destroying it.

Taking in Hadrian had been a dangerous move in itself, regardless of whether the Dark Lord returned or not, but if his wand were destroyed... Severus didn't want to think about the consequences if Voldemort returned to find half of his followers in Azkaban, his wand destroyed, and the famous Boy-Who-Lived renamed and living under his nose.

And, even if the Dark Lord failed to realize it right away, it wouldn't be that difficult to piece together Hadrian Prince's sudden appearance with Harry Potter's disappearance, no matter how carefully he had attempted to integrate them into each other.

Oh, and he had been careful, very much so. He'd waited to register Hadrian Niccolo Prince with the Ministry and waited to approach Septimius, had whispered his true name to none but himself, and Septimius' blood adoption had erased any previous traces of his birth bloodline. Spinner's End was in the Muggle world, so he hid there, reading the Daily Prophet for any signs or whispers of a hunt for Harry Potter. When there had been none, not even a mere mention of his disappearance, only innumerous pages saturated in praise and adoration that described the events that took place and Voldemort's end by the hand of an infant, he'd grown even more wary to reappear. Was it a ploy by Dumbledore, keeping the search under wraps to lure Harry Potter's keeper out? The man was far more proficient at politics than he'd first thought, and even _Lucius_ had admitted his brilliance (albeit snidely) once, so Severus wouldn't put it past him.

" _Dammit!_ " Lucius's snarl broke through his thoughts, and the Potions Master blinked at him in surprise at the sudden burst of anger. Lucius was actively leaning away from him, having retreated several steps, and was breathing heavily. "You can't expect _me_ take it! Do you think the past years have been easy? That I can _afford_ to have such suspicion aimed in my direction? I have court later this week, and some of us _can't_ go into hiding at the snap of a finger!"

The accusation of cowardice stung and Severus' fingers twitched, closing around the wand.

Lucius continued on, whatever restraint he'd had before appearing to have snapped, "The Ministry has been hunting down Death Eaters—did you know that? Crouch, Bellatrix, the Lestranges, Rookwood, Mulciber; they're all gone! Away to Azkaban!" A bitter laugh cut the air, cracked around the edges with hysteria. There was a wild gleam to Lucius's eyes, and the teacup he had been holding tumbled towards the ground. Its cry as it was shattered against the wood went unnoticed.

Onyx eyes tracked the other man's movements, watching as he turned around and raked his hands through his hair.

"Now they're sniffing around me, trying to gather evidence." His voice was now subdued, but the panic and desperation that had been there still remained. Abruptly, he spun to face him. "Did you know they cornered Narcissa in Diagon Alley the other day?"

Severus was silent, his expression purposefully blank. He knew. Of course he knew. He saw the articles, the headlines. He had even managed to summon up a moment of regret for Bellatrix, Barty, and the Lestranges being sent away. But he couldn't falter, couldn't endanger himself for the sake of sparing Lucius's feelings. "What do you propose I do with it, then? Hand it over to Dumbledore?" he sneered.

The Malfoy Lord looked at him for several heartbeats before the fire died in his eyes, replacing burning silver with cold gray, and his lips twisted into a flat line. When he spoke again, his voice was carefully controlled, the scoffing impressively devoid of any waver: "Don't be foolish. Can't _you_ keep it?"

The dark-haired man shook his head. His expression was one of extreme distaste as he explained, "It's only a matter of time until the Order finds me. After proclaiming my Light allegiances over and over, it would be rather… _damning_ ," his tone turned dry, "to be found protecting the Dark Lord's wand. And I loathe to confirm their suspicions, especially after all the trouble I've gone through to infiltrate them."

The damn fools were adept at their job; he'd give them that. Of course, not that they had a reason to search for him up until this point, and he wasn't planning to give them one any time soon. But one could hide for only so long, and when the Death Eaters who had made no effort to flee were all imprisoned or dead, he knew Dumbledore would approach him for insight regarding the ones who _had_ fled. If there were so much as a whiff of something as Dark as a Dark Lord's wand on him, the Headmaster would find it. He refused to risk the chance that Hadrian, the last thing he had left of _Lily_ , would be taken away from him.

His lips twisted bitterly. "Hiding this long was nothing short of a miracle."

"Dare I ask where?" Lucius asked silkily, words laced with an undertone of condescendence.

Severus could still see the trembling of his hands.

"Don't patronize me, Lucius," he snapped. "You know exactly where."

His Muggle home wasn't exactly a secret—while he hadn't paraded its location around the Order, years of being on the ends of many of their jokes and distain making him wary to reveal anything even remotely personal, he was fairly certain Dumbledore, in the least, knew where he lived. Moody, the paranoid codger he was, likely did as well.

Other than them, a few fellow Death Eaters were aware of where he lived, since he had been foolish and naïve in his thirst for a purpose, and, ironically, idiotic enough to trust fellow _Slytherins_ with his address.

There were many claims he would refute about his old house. However, the slander that accused them being dangerous confidants?

That, he knew, was at least partially true.

Silence, careful and still tingling with the unresolved issue of Voldemort's wand, fell between them. The fallen teacup disappeared with a small wave of Lucius's hand, and with it, the tea that had spilled on the carpet. He had both hands clasped behind his back, now, and had turned to stare into the flickering flames before them, seemingly gathering his thoughts.

Still, however prepared Severus was for him to speak, what he said next caught him off guard.

"Gringotts."

"Excuse me?"

A blond eyebrow was raised at him in something close to disdain, as if reprimanding him for being particularly thick. "Put it in Gringotts, then. If the Ministry arrests me, my vault is automatically given to the next Malfoy in line. If someone takes custody of Draco or somehow forces Narcissa to give it up..."

Severus glared at him, irritated that the burden had been so easily pushed back onto him. For Merlin's sake, he didn't have any responsibility besides deceiving Dumbledore—Lucius and Bellatrix were the ones usually entrusted with these things; Bellatrix was gone, so that left the man across from him as the sure inheritor of that duty. "So _my_ vault is safe?"

Waving his hand dismissively, Lucius began to speak, his word a drawl and rather purposely condescending. "As you don't have any direct descendants, and the boy is the Prince heir, not _yours_ ," he let a delicate pause tie the silence between them for a moment, eyeing Severus for any sign of a reaction; when the dark-haired man only seemed to grow more irritated, he continued, "if anything happens to you, they would be unable to use Draco or the Prince boy to get to your vault. Not that they'd have any reason to, of course. That is simply the worse-case scenario."

His brow furrowed, and then smoothened as he thought about the proposal. True, he hadn't considered Gringotts before just because it seemed like a rather…obvious option; perhaps in its obviousness, he had disregarded the fact that Gringotts _was_ , indeed, one of the most proficiently warded and protected banks in the wizarding world.

His status as a bastard and blemish on the Prince family tree, as well as the fact that his mother had been disinherited, meant that his vault was entirely his own to deal with—and he couldn't withdraw from the Prince vault. However, on the opposite side, as it _was_ his vault and his alone, the Ministry was unable to seize it since he wasn't required to register it with them—and he had no child to give the vault to, or who they could manipulate for the contents.

It was, in all, an imperfect but suitable hiding place.

 _For now._

Ignoring the slight unease in his stomach, Severus' head inclined in a begrudging nod. "I suppose that idea has some merit. But why should I risk so much?" If he were to be caught, a world of consequences would rain down on him—on Hadrian. He was only safe now, loathe he to admit it, because of Dumbledore's foolish faith. If that faith were to be destroyed... Azkaban couldn't save him from the anger of a Dark _and_ a Light Lord.

Lucius's temper, born from worry and desperation the Potions Master had yet to find the source of, snapped at him from behind the mask of Malfoy indifference he had been struggling to maintain. "Don't be a fool! The Dark Lord—"

"Thinks very highly of me for retrieving the prophecy," Severus interrupted smoothly. He could only hope that favor would still remained when— _if_ —the Dark Lord returned. "I have no need to prove myself to him. Do you, Lucius?"

It was a low blow; Severus knew it, Lucius knew it, and Severus _knew_ Lucius knew he knew it.

However, the blow was aimed true, and the blond man flinched like he was struck. For a moment Lucius puffed up like an angry peacock, not unlike the many that roamed the Malfoy estate, before deflating, self-righteous anger replaced with unease. The cool façade that had originally covered his face when he first arrived had crumpled, revealing a sort of weariness that Severus was well acquainted with.

"...My family," he rasped, and damn if Severus didn't immediately know what he meant. "If I displease him, they'll..." His voice trailed off, and pale eyes turned to him, a threatening glint lit from their depths. "You're Draco's godfather, Severus. You swore an oath when he was born that you would protect him from harm. An _oath_."

Although his face was impassive as he stared at Lucius, memories and thoughts flickered violently behind his eyes. How many had they been, the years of seeing families torn apart by the Dark Lord's displeasure?

Oh, he was fully aware that several of them had deserved it—most of them, actually. It had been their stupidity and foolishness that landed them in trouble in the first place. Sometimes, they passed the blame onto others, and, sometimes, the Dark Lord was angered enough that a family member was harmed in their stead.

The last time it had happened, Lysander Nott's wife had been killed a mere year or so after they finally had a son.

Severus still remembered the look of utter anguish on the older man's face, even as he kissed the Dark Lord's robes in thanks for his supposed mercy.

He raised an eyebrow. "And in exchange?"

The feverish light ignited in the other man's eyes made him wonder how much he had actually missed, to mistake his bond with Narcissa and Draco for something less than it truly was. Or, perhaps, it was because they were pure-bloods; and, regardless of alignment, pure-bloods always seemed to value their own blood before anything else.

If anything, Severus was a bit…bitter about the whole thing, since apparently the Princes decided that his mother didn't qualify for their protection. That very well might have been due to the fact that she had become a blood traitor, but that didn't meant _he_ was one, half-blooded as he was.

Guilt by association was beginning to wear thin on his temper.

Severus watched, warily, as Lucius's faced morphed into something smugly triumphant _,_ almost like he _knew_ Severus couldn't refuse, before being smoothed over by a flickering façade of apathetic interest.

"Anything, _anything,_ " Lucius said, the words coming too fast to be hidden by the aristocratic mask. "By Salazar's word, and by the Malfoy blood, I'll give you _anything_ if you just take the blasted wand away from here and promise me you'll protect Draco if anything happens."

"Don't worry, Lucius," he drawled. "I hold no ill will towards you or Draco."

"You have my thanks." His voice was an odd mixture of relief and an attempt at aloofness, but there was no mistaking the expression on his face, nor the tension that suddenly drained from his shoulders.

They stood in silence for a few more minutes, Severus mulling over the events that had just transpired. He had originally come here to pass on the wand to Lucius, and to somehow arrange for Hadrian to be put under the Malfoys' care. So far, he'd attempted to accomplish one of those goals.

And had failed.

His resultant fit of inner anger and frustration was broken short by Lucius breaking free of his stillness and slowly walking away from the hearth, towards the corner of the room where his desk lay.

Severus, after a moment's hesitation and debating of whether or not he should quite simply just _leave_ , followed, stopping a mere wandlength behind him.

A glance over his shoulder revealed a small, leather-bound book, completely innocent in appearance. Considering Lucius' propensity of coming into ownership of some rather nasty Dark artefacts, however, Severus would have willingly bet a Galleon or two on the book having some sort of foul quality.

Warily, he asked, "What is that?"

The Malfoy patriarch stroked a pale, trembling finger down the cover in a manner that could be only described as loving. "I...It's...a Dark artefact of some sort—I haven't figured out what, exactly."

"Any particular reason why it's out in the open?"

"The Dark Lord gave it to me. I don't know what to do with it. It hasn't given off any magic, but I doubt anything the Dark Lord has could be considered…innocent. At first there was no issue with keeping it within the Manor, but now, given the circumstances, I have little doubt that when I'm searched it will be confiscated." Despite the weight of his words, Lucius spoke lightly, pointedly not looking in the other man's direction. "I've considered bringing it, and other...objects, to Burke's; however..."

Severus twitched, nostrils flaring. He had an idea of what the bastard was trying to pull, despite his dancing around it with that irritating polite talk that all pure-bloods seemed to be in the habit of using. If Septimius ever met him, he had little doubt that they'd immediately find some sort of kinship in speaking in polite, tiresome riddles. "Is this some sort of roundabout way of asking me to hide this as well?"

Lucius turned. "Usually I wouldn't be so callous as to shove this onto you, Severus, but you must understand that I'm desperate; I can't just forsake something of _His_ —"

"Spare me the excuses, Lucius," he snapped. He brought up a hand to pinch at the bridge of his nose, eyes closing as he fought to stave off the headache he could feel bringing to mount at his temples. "I'll hide your bloody artefact as well. _However_ ," he growled, seeing Lucius's mouth beginning to open in what was no doubt an attempt to give vapid, meaningless thanks, "I've been called to take up an employment in Hogwarts and I need someone to watch Hadrian."

"Of course, of course. I'll add him to the wards later this evening." Lucius stroked his jaw thoughtfully, eyeing the diary once more before his gaze flickered upwards. Suddenly, his eyes paused somewhere above Severus' shoulder, and there was a heartbeat before he spoke again, "You understand that Draco is friends with Blaise and Theodore, correct?"

The names sounded faintly familiar, but Severus wasn't going to play this game any longer. _I don't know who they are, you imbecile—I've been in_ hiding _for the last four years. You think I have time to cavort about with other Death Eaters?_ Still, he bit his tongue and contented himself with asking, "Whose spawn are they?"

"Zabini's and Nott's."

Despite himself, Severus snorted. "Nott hasn't been captured?"

"Well, he will be soon, if he doesn't flee."

"So you're what— _adopting_ his son?" His voice dripped with derision, showing what he thought of _that_ idea.

Lucius smiled pleasantly. " _Lovely_ Lady Zabini," and 'lovely' is far from the word Severus would use to describe the witch, but he managed to restrain himself, "has said she'd take custody of Theodore, when the time comes."

"Isn't that...nice," said Severus, for lack of a better word.

"Hm."

"I don't care much who he associates with, as long they don't so much as breathe a word about _him_. I don't need Dumbledore coming around, asking me why I didn't tell him about the boy. No doubt he'd claim me an incompetent guardian."

"Well, are you?" Lucius questioned. His tone snaked along the lines of being a challenge—refrained, of course, but enough to warrant Severus' responding glare.

He leaned forward, picking up the small journal with pale, spindling hands and tucking it within his robe. Then, the dark-haired man looked askance at Lucius, lip lifted in a sneer. "I may be a bastard, Lucius," he said, "but I have no quarrel with my own kin."

The other tilted his head, perusing Severus' expression with narrowed eyes. "My sympathies, then," he said finally.

"Pardon?"

"It's simply sad that his opinion of you is low enough to earn you such an insult." Lucius was clearly recovering from whatever he had been ill from, if he was already starting to speak in terms of backhanded insults. Severus bristled, but didn't respond; the wizard continued, flicking a speck of imaginary dust off his robe, "Anything else you desire? I owe you quite a lot for these…favors, Severus."

"Would it be at all possible to have a speech tutor come in for Hadrian? The boy has a horrible lisp—I don't want it known that I'm related to some imbecile who trips over his own words."

Lucius looked pleased, presumably at his need for something Lucius could give him. "That should be no trouble at all. I can have him attend Draco's tutoring sessions as well—manners, dancing, the like."

"If you want." Severus said it dismissively, but he was privately rather relieved that the blond had offered. He lacked the funds to employ the caliber of tutoring that Hadrian would need in order to manage the level of political dancing that was required among Durmstrang students—he refused to allow Hadrian to rot away in Hogwarts like his bastard of a father or the rest of his Marauders, where his identity could be made known at any time; if anything, Durmstrang would hide him away.

Hadrian Prince would not fall prey to the bullying and social solitude that Severus had due to incompetence in navigating the political snake nest and the somehow limitless ability to attract unwanted attention.

" _No, Dwaco, weave me awone!_ "

A lisp-hampered whine was loud, although muffled, outside the door, and familiar enough that the Potions Master began to feel a headache blossom at the mere sound of it.

Lucius looked at him coolly, one pale brow arched, before another voice responded, the cadence too aristocratic and haughty to be anything other then a Malfoy's.

" _Wait, Hadrian, da says we're—_ " Draco's protests went unheeded as the study's doors flew open with a bang, and a small, dark-haired blur barreled towards them, only stopping when an equally small, if not a tad taller, figure yanked on his arm.

He hissed something at Hadrian, too quiet for the older men to catch, but it obviously had the opposite of the desired effect on his ward. Green eyes snapped upwards, locking on him, and the Malfoy heir's face immediately paled.

"Sevwus?"

"Hadrian?"

"Draco."

"Ah, hello, da."

Severus was incredulous, Lucius was unimpressed, Draco's expression kept vacillating between humiliation and fear, and Hadrian...

Hadrian's face currently resembled a _Witches Weekly_ makeover tutorial gone horribly, horribly awry.

Recovering from the shock of the pair's sudden entrance, Lucius looked sternly at his heir. "It's father in front of company, Draco," he corrected, voice chillingly flat.

"Sevwus, do I look pwetty?" Hadrian's words tore his focus away from Lucius and his damn spawn, and Severus could only stare at him, expression blank.

Lucius, out of the corner of his eye, frowned.

Unfazed by his silence, his ward continued on, a grin on his face that would usually appear somewhat charming looking rather demented with red lipstick stretched across it. "Dwaco said that I'd look pwetty like his mum if I let 'em put it on me!" It was said in an eager, almost singsong voice, clearly expecting praise for what he thought was an act deserving it.

He was rattled by the appearance, yes, but the bastardized makeup looked familiar, reminiscent of—

Severus felt his brow furrow, and he stared imperiously down the length of his nose at Hadrian, lifting his lip in a sneer. "Wash that off immediately," he ordered. "You look ridiculous." _And too much like Potter._ Had it been Third Year, when the prick had thought it clever to make jabs at his mother?

Lucius made an affirming noise behind him, and then beckoned sharply to Draco. "Draco," he commanded, "I want to have a word with you. And Severus…" His gaze turned to him. "Take your boy to the washroom."

Recognizing the dismissal for what it was, Severus nodded, striding over to Hadrian and taking him by the arm. He didn't struggle, easily following him with the same stupid, vapid grin on his painted lips. As they exited, the doors to the study began to swing shut of their own accord, but not before Draco's cry of, " _But I didn't do it, da! Hadrian was the one—_ " reached their ears.

The doors closed.

Severus glanced downwards at his ward, who blinked owlishly. With a frown in his direction, he continued towards the washroom he knew to be just around the corner, and Hadrian clopped obediently after him.

There was no universe in which Lucius was idiotic enough to raise a son who didn't idolize him—he had seen the blatant fear in Draco's eyes and his desperate attempts to prevent Hadrian from interrupting them. It simply wasn't _plausible_ that he would have actively agreed to abuse his mother's makeup to paint Hadrian's face and, thereby, invoke Lucius' wrath.

…Hadrian on the other hand, was _exactly_ the sort of arrogant prat who'd think he could frame another in order to get them into trouble. He'd been waiting, _watching_ , for any sign that Hadrian Prince was still James Potter's son. And he'd just found it.

Apparently, even a blood adoption wasn't enough to erase inherent pomposity.

Somewhat roughly he yanked Hadrian into the washroom, closing the door behind him. "Up," he ordered, and the boy scrambled up onto the counter that stretched the length of the wall, settling neatly besides the wide, shallow basin that served as a sink. Severus saw his own stormy expression reflected in the mirror before him and scowled at it, watching his brow crinkle.

Hadrian watched him with cautious, questioning eyes.

"Do you think yourself _clever_ , boy," he began, drawing his wand, "for framing Lucius' son for whatever petty reason you deemed righteous? That is the act of a simple minded _bully_ , not once of intellect." He needed to rip this seed out of the ground before it could sprout—he refused for Hadrian to become a mere copy of James Potter's ridiculous, unfounded arrogance, and he would not hesitate to tear down whatever paltry sense of pride he'd taken in his seemingly successful trickery.

He flicked his wand, ignoring his ward's flinch, and frowned when the Scourging Charm refused to take. Apparently, Narcissa used cosmetics spelled to prevent unwished removal.

Guilt flashed across Hadrian's features, and his face momentarily crumpled. However, then he locked his jaw, furrowing his brows, and opened his mouth. "He _insulted_ you," he got out, sounding as if he himself had been personally wronged. "He—he said you looked 'greasy' and—"

He sneered. "Do you truly believe I value the words of a six year old child enough to take _offense_ at them?"

Hadrian looked bewildered at his anger. "But…" he tried again, green eyes confused. "But he _insulted_ you, Sevwus!"

" _Pannus,_ " he muttered, conjuring a cloth. Wetting it in the sink, he stepped closer to his ward, beginning to clear the caked on makeup with clinical, detached motions. "Arrogance may be a part of you, no matter what I wish," Severus began, pushing back the dark curls on Hadrian's forehead to get at a surprisingly thick layer of foundation. "But that does not mean you must adhere to your…" his hand momentarily stilled as he saw the scar, "…genetics."

His throat tightened, and he concentrated on removing the makeup faster. "You are the Prince Heir, and I expect you to act as such," he snapped.

Hadrian's skin was beginning to flush under the roughness of his cleaning, clearer to see now that Severus had scrubbed the rouge from his cheeks. The boy shifted with obvious discomfort, and at such a close distance his eyes distressingly resembled Lily's—however, the blood adoption had darkened the green and lined his irises with gray, separating them enough from his mother's that Severus felt no sudden rush of regret for his harsh words.

"I don' understand," he confessed. "Dwaco insulted you—why is it ara—arro—arrae—"

"Arrogant," he corrected sharply, removing the blood-red lipstick from his mouth with a deft sweep of the cloth.

"Why is it _ah-ro-gant_ ," Hadrian sounded out deliberately, for once careful with his speech, "to get 'im back for being a berk?" His expression was one of obvious befuddlement and confusion, large eyes staring guilelessly at Severus.

The dark-haired man vanished the wet cloth he had been using, and stared silently at his ward, absently taking note of the changes in his features. There was a height and sharpness to his cheeks that was clear even with all the babyish roundness, and his nose was well defined and proud; his hair was as dark as it was when he'd first whisked him away but now it held smooth, fine curls—a complete turnaround from whatever Potter's mess of hair had been.

Hadrian made a questioning noise, and Severus blinked, shaking himself from his musing.

Severus slipped his wand back into his sleeve, but kept his eyes locked with his ward's as he said, tone reprimanding, "It is arrogant to presume I need or even desire your _valiant_ defending, or that I too incompetent to carry out my own retribution." Hadrian still looked hesitant, so then he demanded, looming forwards, "Do you think me a halfwit?"

The boy shook his head.

"Do you believe me weak?"

Hadrian violently shook his head once more, clutching at the counter with small fists.

"Then do not treat me as such," Severus said, moving away from him. The boy noticeably relaxed. "It is not your place as a dimwitted _child_ to defend me against the petty insults of another equally, if not more, dimwitted child. Am I understood?"

Hadrian nodded frantically, and Severus inclined his head slightly. "Good," he stated. "Now, I trust that as the Prince Heir you won't act with such pomposity again—will you, boy?"

"No, Sevwus," Hadrian agreed, peering up at him somberly, vapid smile vanished. "I won't." With that, he slipped down from the counter, rubbing self-consciously at his face. However, as he made to open the door, Severus caught the edge in his hands, halting it mid-swing.

As Hadrian blinked up at him, he offered a cold twist of his lips. "However," he added, voice soft, "if you ever do find yourself in a situation where you're carrying out revenge for whatever reason, do be more… _artful_ about it." It wouldn't do for him to be an utter milksop, obviously. The spineless were the first to go. "Attempt to act with more brains, in the very least, or have the wit to choose a better target. Lucius will never question his precious son's actions unless given a good reason; either give him a good reason or say nothing at all."

The boy's eyes widened, and for a moment he could _see_ his words washing over him, rooting themselves in his mind. Then, the boy smiled. "Yes, Sevwus."

With that, the two of them headed back to the study, where they found the doors already open and Lucius waiting for him.

Lucius stared at Hadrian expectantly.

Hadrian, not wasting any time, craned his neck upward and said, rather pitifully, "I'm sowwy." His lower lip jutted slightly out, and Severus had every suspicion the boy already knew how to manipulate adults far more easily than he'd let on.

The blond patriarch cast a distaining eye down at Severus' ward. "Draco's down the hall," he said.

Hadrian nodded solemnly and made a show of hunching his shoulders as he left the room, but Severus caught his impish grin in his peripheral as he passed by, and fought the urge to sigh. _That's one way of using ones brains, I suppose._

Well, at least Lucius was...appeased with his apology.

Cautiously, Severus turned to him. "Now," he began, remembering what the man had requested of him in his letter, "about sealing away your memories for the trial..."

* * *

 **A/N: I'm alive! Sorry, I meant to get this out way sooner but this chapter was a pain because the version I** _ **originally**_ **had I intensely disliked it for various characterization reasons (I've written a lot of this fic out of order, and have hence had to deal with making sure the continuity isn't fucked, gg me) but after awhile of avoiding it I sat down and rewrote the parts I didn't like.**

 **Thanks for all those reviewed, followed, and favorited! I really appreciate your support, and I hope you liked the chapter. :) Next one will mostly be from Hadrian's POV, and you'll get a glimpse into his lessons with Draco, as well as some more childish shenanigans.**

 **Also, Snape makes a trip to the bank.**


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